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ABOUT THIS BOOK 


I^ope, during his lifetime, was acclaimed 
as one of the great English poets, but soon 
after his death changing taste began to 
dismiss him as merely an accomplished 
versifier content to discuss trivialities or 
to abuse his contemporaries These critical 
attacks were inspired by a general dislike 
of his character rather than by an unbiassed 
consideration of his work But modern 
scholars have done much to re-establish 
him among the great poets 

The present selection is designed to 
show in a small compass every aspect of 
his genius His most popular poem, The 
Rape of the Lock, is printed entire, but so 
also are the greater but less well-known 
poems, the Moral Essays His other long 
and important poems and his translations 
are represented by notable passages, and 
many of his shorter occasional verses are 
included The text is that first published 
by the poet’s friend and executor, William 
Warburton, and wherever possible Pope’s 
own notes have been retained The selection 
IS preceded by a general and biographical 
introduction 



THE PENGUIN POE 1 S 
d14 

POIiMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 




POEMS OF 


ALEXANDER POPE 


SELECTED AND EDITED BY 
DOUGLAS GRANT 


PENGUIN BOOKS 


HARMONDS WORTH MIDDXESRX 





CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION Vll 

FOUR PASTORALS (1709) 

Spring 1 

Summei 4® 

Autumn 7 

Winter lO 

\\ ESSAY ON CRITICISM (1711) 14 

From w iNDSOR-FOREST (1713) 36 

mil. RAPE OF THE LOCK (1714) 39 

From THE TEMPLE OF FAME (1715) 65 

ELOISA TO ABELARD (1717) 66 

ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF UNFORTUNATE 

L\DY ( 1717 ) 78 

EPISTLE TO MRS BLOUNT, WITH THE WORKS OF 

VOITURE (1712) 81 

EPISTLE TO MRS TERESA BLOUNT ON HER LEAV- 
ING THE TOWN AFTER THE CORONATION 
(1717) 84 

EPISTLE TO MR JERVAS, WITH MR DRYDEN’s 
TRANSLATION OF FRESNOY’S ‘aRT OF 

painting’ (1716) 86 

EPISTLE TO ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD AND EARL 

MORTIMER ( 1721 ) 89 

FIVE EPITAPHS 

On the Hon Simon Harcouri (1724) 91 

On Mrs Corbet (1730) 91 

On Sir William Trumbal (1735 ) 91 

On Mr Gay ( 1732) 92 

Intended for Sir Isaac Newton ( 1735) 92 

ODE ON SOLITUDE (1717) 93 


V 



COKTENTS 

ON SILENCE (1712) 94 

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOLE (1736) 97 

iO THE xVUTHOR OP A POEM ENTITLED 

succESSio (1712) 98 

PROLOGUE TO MR ADDISON’s TK \GFDY OP CATO 

(1713) 99 

EPIGRAM (1738) 101 

TO MRS M B ON HER BIRTHDAY (1727) 102 

ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT (1751) 103 

From THE ILIAD (1715— 1720) 

Hector and Andromache (Book VI) 104 

Ftres at Night (Book VIII) 109 

Vulcan forges a Shield for Achilles (Book XVIII) 109 

From THE ODYSSEY (1725— 1726) 

Ulysses and His Dog (Book XVII) 115 

From THE DUNCIAD (1728, 1742) 117 

From ESSAY on man (17SS-1734) 119 

MORAL ESSAYS (1731 — 1735) 

Kptstle I Of the Knowledge and Characters of Men 130 

Epistle II Of the Characters of Women 139 

Epistle III Of the U^e of Riches 148 

Epistle IV Of the Use of Riches 163 

EPISTLE TO DR ARBUTHNOT, being THE PROLOGUE 

TO THE SATIRES (1735) 171 

From THE SATIRES AND EPISIIES OF HORACE 
IMITATED (1731-1738) 

To Mr Bethel (Hor Bk II Sat ii) 185 

To Eord JBohngbroke (Hor^ Bk I Ep ii) 191 

From To Augustus (Hor Bk II Ep i) 197 

From THE EPILOGUE TO THE SATIRES (1738) 199 

Index of First Lines £01 

The date given after each poem is that 
of Its first ptiblication 
vx 



INTRODUCTION 


Nothing stays constant, and liteiary fame least of alL 
Poets Vvho blaze vividly to their contemporai les often de- 
cline into obscurity, others assume tlieir full strength only 
after long years of neglect, and some have their brilliance 
transiently obscured by clouds of perverse and malignant 
criticism No poet has been more afflicted by such clouds 
than Alexander Pope who, enjoying unparalleled praise 
while he lived, suffered denigration after his death, par- 
ticularly at the hands of nmeteenth-century critics Their 
judgments have now been reversed, and he is recognized 
again a,s the great poet his contemporaries acclaimed him 
to be This rank he achieved m spite of many disadvan- 
tages An only child, he was bom to elderly parents m 
1688 His father, having acquired some fortune in trade and 
professing Roman Catholicism, retired shortly after his 
son's birth to Bmfield, m Windsor Forest, to enjoy m 
tranquillity the pleasures his competence could bring and 
to escape the troublesome civic disadvantages his faith en- 
tailed There Pope's education began He was a weak but 
precocious child and took naturally to study He soon 
began to write verses of his own, and late in life when he 
looked back to his youth, he fondly exclaimed, "I lisp'd 
m numbers, for the numbers came ' Thus from the start he 
was preoccupied with and practised poetry, and his father 
wisely encouraged him What plans for tragedies, epics 
and romances went through the boy's head are now 
subjects for conjecture, but the ambition to excel m that 
art began then and remamed constant 

Secluded Bmfield offered little scope for a youth who 
soon became confident m his powers, and from the early age 
of seventeen he began to frequent those London coffee- 
houses distinguished for the informal societies of literati 
which gathered there Pope justified his mtroduction mto 

vu 



INI RODUC nON 


this new and invigorating world by handing round in 
manuscript poems whose quality aroused praise and 
patronage These were the Pastorals, which - though the\^ 
were not published until 1709 — he had begun to write 
at sixteen The gifts they displa 3 /ed were enough to 
arrest the attention of the most sophisticated critics The 
Pmtojah, wrote Dr Johnson, exhibited "a series of versi- 
fication, which had m English poetry no precedent, nor has 
since had an imitation ^ 

The taste for pastorals has long since become jaded, 
and such poems are considered to be 'artificial' and, 
consequently, unnecessary There is, however, no surei 
way to revive this taste than by readmg Pope’s Pastorals 
They show a i are delicacy of feeling and perception Pope 
had an almost tremulous awareness of the changing grace 
of the earth, and an eye for particular beauties that has 
seldom been matched for sharpness 

Now sleeping fiocks on their soft fleeces lie. 

The moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky 

The verbal felicity of this couplet, the strikmg image in 
the first line, and the quiet lovelmess of the picture called 
up, would be difficult to equal in many young poets Other 
remarkable qualities are revealed in these poems Pope 
showed his ability to suggest ~ m a manner not dissimilar 
to Thomas Bewick m his w oodcuts — a whole picture in a 
line or two Thus, when he writes 

Oft* on the rmd I carv’d hei am’rous vows. 

While she with garlands hung the bending boughs, 

the lovers are presented to the imagination m detail The 
power Pope had to extract the essence of a scene or 
character was to become more pronounced m his later 


Vlll 



INTRODUCl ION 


poems There is also the ci aftsmanship of the verse itself, 
and that maj be seen m couplets such as tins 

As some sad T urtle his lost love deplores. 

And with deep murmurs fills the sounding shores 

The Pastor ah have a decorous charm, as indeed the con- 
vention demanded they should have, and — though Pope's 
verse as yet showed little knowledge of the world — they 
aie remarkable first poems, which still stand among the 
foremost of their kind 

This was an auspicious beginning to his careei , but 
though these poems were enough to make his mark upon 
contemporary critics, they w^ere hardly sufficient to raise 
him far above othei pionusing candidates for fame Some 
more substantial and oiigmal work was requiied were he 
to acquire distinction The same year as the Pastorals were 
published, he wrote his fiist great poem He was then, it is 
worth remembering, but twenty This was the Essay on 
Criticism He attempted in the Essay to set out rules foi 
good composition and good criticism, to display his learn- 
ing m both English and classical literatures, and, in 
short, to speak on his art m an authoritative voice — since 
It IS that voice which wins a hearing and respect He did not 
intend that the rules he announced should be considered as 
his own discovery, as many later critics have wrongly sup- 
posed , but he would, have claimed to have been the first to 
have methodized the evidence of earlier poets and critics 
mto a comprehensive and intelligible system The strength 
and breadth of the poem is manifest Johnson asserted, that 
*if he had written nothing else, it would have placed him 
among the first criticks and the first poets' The opening 
Imes of the Essay show that the conlmual practice of writing 
had given him an almost unrivalled verbal dexterity, and 
reveal a wit that is unsurpassed 


ix 



INTRODUCTION 


’Tis With our judgments as our watches, none 

Go just alike, yet each believes his own 

He had already learnt to express in a couplet such as 
this a fine thought, and to charge it at the sanae time with 
wit Once this art was mastered, he used it mcreasmgly and 
effectively until his verse can be distinguished by its witty 
concision There is also m the Kssay an undercurrent of 
spiritual perception that was absent m the Pastorals^ and 
It lends strength to the rightly praised simile of the Alps, 
and to the moving conclusion to the first part that begins 

Still green with bays each ancient Altar stands 

This spiritual undercurrent could be called aspiration. 
There can be felt in the rhythm of the verse — m the in- 
cisive surge forward of it — the pressure of a vigorous mind 
forever forcing on to wider horizons of understanding 
Tope had likewise genius', wrote Johnson in his noble life 
of the poet, "a mmd active, ambitious, adventurous, always 
mvestigating, always aspiring, m its widest searches still 
longing to go forward, m its highest flights still wishing to 
be higher, always imagining somethmg greater than it 
knows, always endeavoui mg more than it can do ' This 
quality of aspiration never obtrudes itself, nor exhibits 
Itself for praise, but is always to be felt beneath the sensi- 
tive fluency of the lines 

The Essay was published m 1711, and in the following 
year the first version of Pope's most famous poem ap- 
peared It was occasioned by a quarrel betw’^een the two 
families of Petre and Fermor Lord Petre, m a frolic, had 
cut off a lock of Arabella Fermor's hair, and to soothe the 
unkind feelings which this mcident had aroused, by repre- 
sentmg the rape m a comic and fantastic light, was Pope's 
intention The first version of the Rape of the Lock was in 
two cantos only, but m 171^ Pope published the enlarged 

X 



INTRODUCTION 


\ersioii m five cantos There is no more delicate and 
aetherial poem m the language^, and superlatives of praise 
have been showered upon it ev^en by those critics most 
antipathetic to Pope's genius It is the epitome of his eaiiy 
work The felicity of the Pastorals has been futher refined, 
the wit of the Essay has been sharpened until it can pierce 
unerringly the subtlest feeling or folly, and, unlike the 
previous poems, it reveals a fine knowledge of character 
Pope had moved in society since he first came to London, 
and It IS obvious that nothing had escaped his eye Fabrics 
and cosmetics, balls and routs, ail the decorative luxury of 
his age, Jiad been intently observed and appreciated, and 
the men and w^omen who loved and joked, cried and 
quarrelled, in that rich setting had no less evaded his 
attention The London of 1714 is brought before us m all 
Its rich tiappmgs 

Yet there is more than consummate verse and meticulous 
observation *It is the most exquisite specimen of filigree 
work ever invented It is admiiable in proportion as it is 
made of nothing,'* wrote William Hazlitt with the per- 
verseness that spices his brilliantly expressed and often 
profound discourses It could be claimed that the Rape of 
the Lock is made of everythmg Another critic, W P Ker, 
likened it, m a fine phrase, to *the astral body of an heroic 
poem, pure form, an echo of divme music ' There lies the 
truth The poem is heroic poetry refined until murmurs of 
the war for Helen, the strife of Hector and Achilles on the 
sun-baked plam below Troy, and the clangmg of Rmaldo's 
bright armour, sound under the shady trees m Hampton 
Court and in the airs that breathe around Belmda The 
continual suggestion of heroic verse dignifies the quarrel 
over the lock and, at the same time, so risible is the com- 
parison of great and small, mvests it with humour The 
poem IS not, however, a clever pastiche The spiritual 


XI 



INTRODUCTION 


undercurrent of aspiration that swirls under the Essay 
moves also through the Rape of the Lock, and it is this 
which points the wit with significance and urges it into 
the reader so that once heard the perfect couplets are never 
forgotten 

* If to her share some female errors fall. 

Look on her face, and you’ll forget ’em all 

We do not look upon Belmda^s face only Behmd her and 
round her rise up the ghost faces oi Helen and Angelica 
and Duessa — of all the women who have roused men to 
heroic follies or sunk them in languor — and wait upon her 
piesent beauty Similarly, when the lock has been severed 
by the scissors, the poet movingly exclaims 

What Time would spare, from Steel receives its date. 
And monuments, like men, submit to fate ’ 

That is no mere lamentation over a lock of hair, it is a 
gentle but passionate cry over all beauty wantonly de- 
stroyed These implications that underlie the poem give it 
strength, and, savmg it from drawing-room comedy, trans- 
late It mto an ^echo of divine music’ 

The poem was, m its revised form, an immediate suc- 
cess It confirmed Pope’s reputation and placed him at the 
head of contemporary poets , but such eminence could not 
be separated from jealousy and calumny He himself did 
much to encourage the attacks made upon him Although 
he pretended otherwise, he was extremely sensitive to 
criticism, and he could never resist the temptation to 
retort on his critics , and from the time of the publication 
of the Essay there began a guerilla war in abuse between 
him and his detractors He was peculiarly open to attack 
His constitution had been underramed by sickness and pro- 
longed study, and under these stresses his small body had 



INTRODUC riON 


grown deformed Dr Johnson, m one of the most moving 
and compassionate passages m his life of the poet, described 
him as he appeared m his middle-age 'He was then so weak 
as to stand m need of perpetual female attendance, ex- 
tremely sensible of cold, so that he wore a kind of fur 
doublet, under a shirt of very coarse warm Imen w ith fine 
sleeves When he rose, he was invested m boddice made of 
stiff canvas, being scarce able to hold himself erect till they 
were laced, and he then put on a flannel waistcoat One 
Side was contracted His legs were so slender, that he en- 
larged their bulk with three pairs of stockings, which were 
drawn on and off by the maid , for he was not able to dress 
or undress himself, and neither went to bed nor rose with- 
out help His weakness made it very difficult for him to be 
clean " It should be added, that this sickly and curved body 
carried a noble head with wide, vivid eyes, a sensitive, full 
mouth, and a countenance refined by thought and lined 
by suffermg His physique gave his enemies opportunities 
for ridicule that they were not slow to take 'Enquire 
for a young, short, squab gentleman, the very bow of the 
God of Love,’ exclaimed one, and added, with greater 
definiteness, that the poet’s form wa.s that of a 'downright 
monkey’ Once this abusive note had been sounded, it rang 
on m Pope’s eai s, and, though he pretended otherwise, it 
hurt him so that he never forgot who first tolled and who 
sucx:eeded to toll it He remembered them all and even- 
tually retaliated with an en\ enomed invective that, 
slipping between their cudgel blow s, poniarded them 
with deft and deadly art 

These controversies luffled but could scarcely shake his 
peace Famous and caressed by the great, he enjoyed 
favours few poets have experienced , but though his poetry 
had won him fame, it had not given him the financial inde- 
pendence without which it could not peacefully be enjoyed 


Xlll 



INTRODUCTION 


To secure the independence that he longed tor - and no 
poet has hated more than Pope dependence upon casual 
patronage — he issued m 1715 proposals for a translation 
mto English verse of Homer's Iltad His great friends 
rallied to his support, and soon a large number of sub- 
scribers were found to encourage the poet m his task The 
first volume was issued in 1715 and the last m 17£0 During 
these years Pope concentrated with resolute determination 
upon rendermg mto English the 16,000 lines of the Greek 
origmal, and the completed work was acclaimed at once as 
one of the great poems in the language 'It is certainly the 
noblest version of poetry which the world has ever seen, 
and Its publication must therefore be considered as one of 
the great events in the annals of learning', wrote Johnson, 
and again, 'His version may be said to have tuned the 
English tongue , for since its appearance no writer, how- 
ever deficient in other powers, has wanted melody Such a 
series oi Imes so elaborately corrected, and so sweetly 
modulated, took possession of the publick ear , the vulgar 
was enamoured of the poem, and the learned wondered at 
the translation ' A pity that the host of succeeding minor 
poets copied his 'melody' so thoroughly, for they debased 
it and brought it mto disrepute 

The Iltad and the succeeding translation of the Odyss^ - 
which IS but in part Pope's work — gave him the mdepend- 
ence he coveted , from the first translation alone he made 
more than ^5,000, which was an unprecedented sum to be 
earned by literary work The money he wisely and 
shrewdly mvested He took, in 1718, a house at Twicken- 
ham, where he lived, except for frequent visits to the 
houses of his friends, until his death There he indulged his 
taste for landscape gardening He built the famous grotto 
that he has so lovingly described 'It is finished with shells 
interspersed with pieces of lookmg glass m angular forms, 


xiv 



INTRODUCTION 


and in the ceiling is a star of the same material, at which 
when a lamp, of an orbiculai figure of thin alabaster, is 
hung m. the middle, a thousand pointed ra 3 ^s glitter, and 
are reflected over the place There are connected to this 
grotto by a narrower passage tv=vo parches with niches and 
seats ~ one towards the river oi smooth stones, full of 
light and open , the other towards the arch ot trees, rough 
with shells, flints and iron-ore The grotto connected the 
house to Its grounds, and there Pope exercised his genius 
Horace Walpole, twenty years aftei Pope's death, de- 
scribed the garden *it was a little bit of ground of five 
acres, enclosed with three lanes and seeing nothmg Pope 
had twisted and twirled, and rhymed and harmonized this, 
till It appeared two or three sweet little lawns opening and 
openmg beyond one another, and the whole surrounded 
with thick impenetrable woods ' The taste and ingenuity 
Pope showed m gardening is like that which he showed in 
his poetry, m verse too, he made each phrase and image 
respond to his wishes and contribute all they could to a 
total effect 

The great translations from Homer, however, preoccu- 
pied his attention at the expense of original work The first 
volume of his collected poems, published m 1717, included 
some hitherto unprmted pieces — notably that profound and 
passionate poem, Elozsa to Abelard — but else these years 
saw little of moment By 1725, however, he had secured 
his mdependence, and he could once agam devote himself 
to his own work. Then began his last and greatest period 
Pope was the arch-poet — To make verses was his first 
labour, to mend them was his last', wrote Johnson — and 
with endless care he refined and polished his Imes until they 
would admit of no improvement He was dissatisfied until 
he was certam that criticism would only be blunted if 
directed against his poetry's flawless and impregnable 


XV 



suiface His translations, though they displaced for a time 
his origmal work, encoui aged his art Dr Johnson, m a pass- 
age of deep critical perception, said "By perpetual practice, 
language had in his mind a systematical arrangement, 
havmg always the same use for woids, he had words so 
selected and combined as to be ready at his call ’ To ex- 
press himself could now give him little trouble, and he 
devoted himself to sounding a deepei note than he had 
attempted m his earlier veise This later poetry, m its 
sonority and harmonious complexity, is like a great river 
Its smooth and reflective surface masks the depths, and its 
calm breadth hides its vigoious speed, but the images, 
unlike the images in shallov^ ei verse that are mere surface 
impositions, are rooted in its depths, and the mflexions and 
subtleties of the rhythm, swirling yet tautly combined, are 
the proof of its fast cunent It is always contamed within 
the channel laid down for its progress, and even when, like 
water boiling and strivmg o\er a weir, its passionate satire 
would seem to be runnmg with almost uncontrollable tur- 
bulence, It is governed and directed on its course The later 
poetry is a brilliant tiiumph It leveals an imagination at 
once urgent but disciplined, a sensitivity alert to all appear- 
ances but selective, and a verbal music strong but clear 
There is also a noticeable change m the chai acter of the 
later poetiy — a change remarked on by the poet when he 
said, that in this verse he had 'stoopM to truth and moraliz'd 
his song' As he grew older he became increasingly pre- 
occupied with men and then natures No longer was he 
content, as he had been m the Rape of the Lock^ to depict 
with delicacy and hunioui contemporary follies and foibles , 
he must now probe deeper and, uncovermg the very springs 
of action, lash the vices that he thought debased man He 
was, howev^er, first and foremost a poet, and when he 
'moraliz'd his $ong% it did not become a censorious homily 


XVI 



I M HOD L Cl ION 


deli\eied with smcenty but without ait Ail his poetical 
abilities, enriched by his yeais of practice as a tianslator, 
were employed to deliver a bnlliant and scathing com- 
mentary upon his contemporaries 'If folly glow lomantic 
I must paint it\ he exclaimed, and this urge dro\ e him to 
cieate that great series ot characters — Atossa, JSfarczssa, 
Timo?i, Atticuh and the otheis — m which he hung out the 
vices and tollies that corrupted These characters do not 
refer particularly to any one great or notorious person, 
whose life like the path of a portentous comet was w^atched 
with avid interest by society, though Pope had often one 
especial peison in mmd, but are compounded of character- 
istics culled from numbers, they are the quintessences ot 
\ ice Though Pope w ished to moralise, he presented these 
chai acters not as a fulminating pi eacher w ould have done 
but as a poet, they were symbols that released his imagina- 
tion and summoned up his finest poetry So when he wrote 
on Cotta and his close-fistedness, the description of the 
miser's mansion is as lovely and as piecise as any descrip- 
ti\ e verse ever written 

Like some lone Chartieux stands the good old Hall, 
Silence without, and fasts withm the wall. 

No rafter’d roofs with dance and tabor sound. 

No noontide-bell invites the country round 
Tenants with sighs the smokeless tow’rs surve^'^. 

And turn th’ unwilling steeds another way 

T he overgrown rankness of the silent house is sharply pre- 
sented, its past and happier history suggested, and the 
moral subtly insinuated, that the duty of wealth is to dis- 
pense hospitality This is morality tiansmuted into the 
purest poetry 

Pope's first original work after the translations is also, 
perhaps, his greatest work The Dunezad^, published in 
1728, was his answer to all those critics and poetasters who 


xvii 



f XI KODLG 1 JOX 


had for years been snarling at his heels Their names were 
legibn but Pope, remembering each one and noting their 
separate peculiarities, wove them into this extraordinary 
sombre masterpiece Theie is nothing else like it in 
literature Unfoi tunately, the notes appended to the poem 
are so integral to its stiuctuie and so necessary for its 
undei standing that it cannot be included m a selection of his 
verse, the solemn conclusion can be separated and it is to 
be found here 

The six years after 1730 were his most sustained creative 
pel iod The Essay on Man^ the Moral Essays^ and many of 
the Imitations oj Horace^ were published The Essay on 
Man, an attempt to Vindicate the ways of God to man"', is 
not a successful poem Pope was not a trained philosopher, 
and the subject he chose was not amenable to his genius, 
but the poem does contain some of his most fervent and 
finest poetry The magnificent apostrophe to Happiness has 
a pathetic sincerity that cannot fail to move almost to tears , 
and the v^alediction at the close a tenderness unsurpassed 
Charles Lamb wished to call up Pope from the dead to 
greet the poet who paid such 'divine compliments^ and this 
compliment to Bolmgbroke is among his best The Moral 
Essays^ which also examine many's nature, are, however, 
completely successful and count among his greatest verses 
His felicity of phrasmg and imagery cannot be seen to 
better advantage than in these Essays Thus he addresses 
himself to his task m the Ciiaracters of Women 

Come then, the colours and the ground prepare* 

Dip in the Rainbow, trick her off m Air, 

Choose a firm Cloud, before it fail, and m it 

Catch ’ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute 

Or, he describes the fantastic, ridiculous beauty of Timon's 
viUa 


XVlll 



IN 1 aouu CTION 


Here A^niphiti ite sails through myi tie bowers , 

There Gladiatois fight, or die m flowers, 

Unwatei ’d see the drooping sea-horse mourn, 

\nd swallows roost in Nilus’ dusty Urn 

1 hese exquisite poems arise not only from the senses but 
from passion and spirit, which, like the eaith’s cential 
fnes, warm and nourish the fan surface 

Tlie Imitations of Horace occupied his last years He 
those from the Roman poet^s works those satires and 
epistles that appealed to him by their applicability to his 
own time, and while translating them adapted them to suit 
his purposes They could be called Pope's familiai poems , 
m them he approaches the reader m his proper person and 
with a disarming intimacy discovers his own character 
‘Shut, shut the door, good John', he commands his servant 
m the Prologue, and once liis privacy is thus safeguarded, 
be easily and frankly converses with his read eis Then he 
can exclaim — recollecting the host of panders his fame has 
bi ought around his door — 

Why am I ask'd what next shall see the light ^ 
Heav’ns ^ was I born for nothing but to write ^ 

Has Life no joys for me ^ or (to be grave) 

Have I no friend to serve, no soul to save 

Or, contemplating his sickness and his life ot labour, he can 
pass this pathetic comment 

Tlie Muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not Wife, 

To help me through this long disease, my Life 

The Imitations have not the rare, elaborate beauty of the 
Moral Essays but they speak with a fine simplicity and 
clarity, and they have passages of unequalled satirxcal 
brilliance 

The Imitations formed a fitting conclusion to his life 


XIX 



I N I RODUCTION 


^He died m the e\enmg of the thirtieth day of 174*4, 

so placidly, that the attendants did not discern tiie exact 
time of his expiration' So Or Johnson described the death 
of one of England's greatest poets haults there were in his 
life that are difficult to dispose of, the childish deceits he 
practised w^ere many, and they recoiled upon him when they 
were unearthed after his death and used to blacken his 
memory, but tliey were venial It is not those that his cen- 
sorious editors and biographeis should ha\e remembeied, 
but his qualities and his aspirations He remains, as he will 
always remain, the great example of devotion to an ideal, 
perfection, which he missed more narrowly than almost any 
other poet His poetr^^, chaste but passionate, disciplined 
but imaginative, gay but profound, is of a quality as rare 
and lovely as his own Happiness — a ‘Plant of celestial 
seed ' 



NOI E 

Tile text of the poems is that which 
William Warburton, Bishop of 
Gloucester, Pope*s friend and 
executor, fust published m 1751 
The text of the Iliad and the 
Ody<isey is printed from the first 
editions of those translations The 
poems need annotation m many 
places, and Pope, aware of this, 
commented upon the obscurer pas- 
sages His notes, as fai as possible, 
have been retained, and are distin- 
guished with a P 

D G 

1950 




SPRING 


inr riRST P\!,TOhVI, OR D\MOV 
TO SIR WILLIAM TRLMBALI 

First in these fields I try the sj'lvan strains, 

Nor blush to sport on Windsor’s blissful plains 
Fair Thames, flow gently from thy sacred spring. 

While on thy banks Sicilian Muses sing. 

Let vernal airs through trembling osiers play. 

And Albion’s cliffs resound the rural lay 

You that, too wise for pride, too good for pow’r. 

Enjoy the glory to be great no more. 

And, carrying with you all the w orld can boast. 

To all the woild illustriously are lost' 

O let ray Muse her slender reed inspire. 

Till in your native shades you tune the lyre 
So when the Nightmgale to rest lemoves. 

The Thrush may chant to the forsaken groves. 

But, charm’d to silence, listens while she sings. 

And all th’ aerial audience clap their wings 
Soon as the flocks shook off the nightly dews. 

Two Swains, whom Love kept wakeful, and the Muse, 
Pour’d o’er the whitenmg vale their fleecy care. 

Fresh as the mom, and as the season fair 
The dawn now blushmg on the mountain’s side. 

Thus Daphms spoke, and Strephon thus reply’d 

DAPHNis Hear how the birds, on ev’ry bloomy spray. 
With joyous music wake the dawning day' 

Why sit w'e mute, when early linnets sing. 

When warbling Philomel salutes the sprmg 

1 Sir William Trumbull (1639-1716), a retired statesman and a 
friend of Pope’s 

1 



POl Mi> Of Air^VANDER POPE 


Why sit 'we sad when Phosphoi^ shines so clear. 

And lavish Nature pamts the puiple ycai ^ 
sa KEF^HON Sing then, and Damon shall attend the strain, 
W^hile yon' slow oxen turn the furrow'd plain 
Hei e the bi ight < i ecus and blue vi'let glow. 

Here western winds on breathing roses blow 
Fll stake yon' lamb, that near the tountam play^s. 

And fioni the bunk his dancing shade surveys 
DAPHNis And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines. 
And swelling clusteis bend the culling vines 
Four figuies rising Irorn the work appear. 

The various seasons of the rowlmg yeai , 

And what is that, which binds the radiant sky. 

Where twelve fair signs in beauteous order lie ^ 
oAMOJs Then sing by^ tin ns, by turns the Muses sing. 
Now hawthorns blossom, now the daisies spring, 

Now leaves the tiees, and fiow'rs adorn the ground 
Begin, the vales shall ev'ry note rebound 
STREPHON Inspire me, Phoebus, m my Delia's praise. 
With Waller's^ strains, or Granville's^ movmg lays^ 

A milk-white bull shall at your altars stand. 

That threats a fight, and spurns the rising sand 
DAP UNIS O Love^ for Sylvia let me gam the prize, 

And make my tongue victorious as her ey^es. 

No lambs or sheep for victims I'll impart. 

Thy victim. Love, shall be the shepherd's heart 
STREPHON Me gentle Delia beckons fiom the plain. 
Then hid m shades, eludes her eager swain. 

But feigns a laugh, to see me search around. 

And by that laugh the willing fair is found 
1 Phosphor the planet Venus when she appears as a morning star 
£ Edmund Waller (1606—87), the poet whose polished verses 
inspired Pope to imitation 

S George Granville, Baron Lansdowne (1 667-1 7S5) , poet, drama- 
tist, and an early patron of Pope 

£ 



P VSTORAJLS 


D % PH M s Ihe spiightly Sylvia trips along the green. 

She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen. 

While a hind glance at her pursuer flies. 

How much at variance are her feet and eyes ^ 

Si KEPHON O’er golden sands let iich Pactolus flow. 

And tiees weep amber on the banks of Po, 

Blest Thames's shoies the brightest beauties yield. 

Feed here, my lambs, Fll seek no distant field 
0APHNIS Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves, 

Diana Cynthus, Ceres H3 bla loves , 

It Wmdsor-shades delight the matchless maid, 

Cynthus and Hybla yield to Wmdsoi -shade 
ST II E p H o N All nature mourns, the skies relent m show 'rs. 
Hush'd are the birds, and clos'd the drooping flow'rs. 

If Delia smile, the flow'rs begm to spring. 

The skies to brighten, and the birds to sing 
D AP H N IS All nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair. 
The Sun's mild lustre warms the vital air , 

If Sylvia smiles, new glories gild the shore. 

And vanquish’d nature seems to charm no more 
STREP HON In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love. 

At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove. 

But Delia always , absent from her sight. 

Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight 
DAPHNis Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, 
More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day, 

Ev 'n spring displeases, when she shines not here , 

But blest with her, 'tis sprmg throughout the year 
STkEFHON Say, Daphnis, say, in what glad soil appears, 
A wond'rous Tree that sacred Monarchs bears 
Tell me but this, and I’ll disclaim the prize. 

And give the conquest to thy Sylvia's eyes 

I An allusion to the royal oak, in which Charles II had been hid 
irom the pursuit after the battle of Worcester P 

3 



POEMS Oh ALEXANDER POPE 


DAPHNis Nay, tell me fiist, m what more happy fields 
The Thistle springs, to which the Lily yields 
And then a nobler prize I will resign , 

For Sylvia, charming Sylvia shall be thme 
DAMON Cease to contend, for, Daphnis, I decree, 

The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee 
Blest Swains, whose Nymphs m evVy grace excel, 

Blest Nymphs, whose Sw ams those graces sing so well ! 
Now rise, and haste to yonder woodbine bowTs, 

A solt retreat from sudden vernal showers, 

The turf with rural dainties shall be crown'd. 

While op'nmg blooms dijfFuse their sweets around 
For see * the gathering flocks to shelter tend. 

And from the Pleiads fruitful show’rs descend 


SUMMER 

THE SECOND PASTORAL, OR ALEXIS 
TO DR GARTH*^ 

A shepherd's Boy (he seeks no better name) 

Led forth his flocks along the silver Thame, 

Where dancing sunbeams on the waters play'd, 

And verdant alders form'd a quiv'rmg shade 
Soft as he mourn'd, the streams forgot to flow. 

The flocks around a dumb compassion show, 

The Naiads wept m ev'ry wat'ry bow'r. 

And Jove consented in a silent show'r 

1 A riddle that refers to the thistle of Scotland, the device worn by 
Queen Anne, and to the lilies of France 
£ Sir Samuel Garth (1601—1719), physician, poet, and friend of 
Pope^s He wrote a fine poem, T/ie Dispensary 

4 



FAS rORAI-S 


Accept, O Garth * the ^vluse’s earl^^ 

That adds this 'wreath ot Ivy to thy Bays, 

Hear what from Love unpracti&M heaits endure. 
From Love, the sole disease thou canst not cure 
Ye shady beeches, and ye cooling streams, 
Defence from Phoebus% not from Cupid's beams. 
To you I mourn, nor to the deaf I sing. 

The woods shall answer, and their echo ring 
Tlie hills and rocks attend my doleful lay. 

Why art thou prouder and more hard than they ^ 
The bleatmg sheep wnth my complaints agree. 
They parch'd with heat, and I inflam'd by thee 
The sultry Sinus burns the thirsty plains. 

While m thy heart eternal wmter reigns 

Where stray ye. Muses, in what lawn or grove. 
While youi Alexis pines m hopeless love ^ 

In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides. 

Or else where Cam his winding vales divides ^ 

As in the crystal spring I view my face. 

Fresh rising blushes paint the wat'ry glass , 

But smce those graces please thy eyes no more, 

I shun the fountains which I sought before 
Once I was skill'd m ev'ry herb that grew. 

And ev'ry plant that drinks the morning dew. 

Ah wretched shepherd, what avails thy art. 

To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart ^ 

Let other swams attend the rural care. 

Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces sheer 
But nigh yon' mountam let me tune my lays. 
Embrace my tx>ve, and bind my brows with bays* 
That flute is mine which Colin's tuneful breath 
Inspir'd when living, and bequeath'd m death. 

He said, 'Alexis, take this pipe, the same 
That taught the groves my Rosalmda's name;' 



POEMS Ol ALEXANDER POPE 


But now the reeds shall hang on yonder tree, 

Foi ever silent, since despis'^d by thee 

Oh^ were I made by some transfoi mmg pow^i 

The capti\e bird that sings within thy bow'r? 

Then might my voice thy Iist^'ning ears employ. 

And I those kisses he receives, enjoy 

And yet my numbei s please the rural throng. 
Rough Satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the song 
The Nymphs, forsaking ev^ry cave and spring. 

Their early fruit, and milk-white turtles bring* 

Each am Tons nymph prefers her gifts in vain. 

On you their gifts are all bestow 'd again 
For you the swains the fairest flowers design, 

Aaid m one garland all their beauties join , 

Accept the wreath which you deserve alone. 

In whom all beauties are compriz'd in one 
See what delights in sylvan scenes appear ^ 
Descendmg Gods have found Elysium here 
In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray'd, 

Amd chaste Diana haunts the forest-shade 
Come, lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours. 
When swains from sheering seek their nightly bow Ys ; 
When weary reapers quit the sultry field. 

And crown'd with com their thanks to Ceres yield 
This harmless grove no lurking viper hides. 

But m my breast the serpent Love abides 
Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew. 

But your Alexis knows no sweets but you 
Oh deign to visit our forsaken seats. 

The mossy fountains, and the green retreats * 
Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade. 
Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade 
Where'er you tread, the blushmg flowYs shall rise. 
And all things flourish where you turn your eyes 

6. 



PASTORALS 


Oh* how I long with you to pass my days, 
Imoke the Muses, and resound your praise ^ 
Your pi aise the birds shall chant m e\ Yy grov e, 
And w inds shall w aft it to the pow Ys above 
But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain. 
The wondYmg forests soon should dance again. 
The moving niountams hear the powYful call. 
And headlong streams hang listening in their fall ^ 
But see, the shepherds shun the noon-day heat. 
The lowing herds to murmYing brooks retreat. 
To closer shades the panting flocks remove , 

Ye Gods ^ and is there no relief for Love 
But soon the sun with milder rays descends 
To the cool ocean, where his journey ends 
On me love's fiercer flames for ever prey, 

By night he scorches, as he bums by day 


AUTUMN 

IHE THIRD PASTORAL, OR HliLAS \ND AEGON 
TO MR WYCHERLEY^ 

Beneath the shade a spreading Beech displays, 
Hylas and Aegon sung their rural lays , 

This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent Love, 

And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the Grove 
Ye Mantuan nymphs, your sacred succour bring, 
Hylas and Aegon's rural lays I sing 

Thou, whom the Nme with Plautus' wit inspire. 
The art of Terence, and Menander's fire, 

1 William Wycherley ( 1640?— 1716) , the dramatist and a friend 
of Pope's 


7 



POEMS Oh AJLFXANOEIi POPE 


Who^e sense mstiucts us, and whose humour charms. 
Whose judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms ^ 
Oh, skiird in Nature^ see the hearts ot Swains, 

Then aitless passions, and their tender pains 
Now setting Phoebus shone serenely bright. 

And fleecy clouds were streak^ with purple light. 
When tuneful Hylas, with melodious moan. 

Taught rocks to weep, and made the mount<iins groan 
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away* 

To Delia's ear the tender notes convey 
As some sad Turtle his lost love deplores. 

And with deep murmurs fills the sounding shores , 
Thus, lar from Delia, to the winds I mourn. 

Alike unheard, unpity'd, and forlorn 

Go, gentle gales, and beai my sighs along ^ 

For her, the feather'd choirs neglect their song 
For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny. 

For her, the lilies hang their heads and die 
Ye flow'rs that droop, forsaken by the spring. 

Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to smg. 

Ye trees that fade when autumn-heats remove. 

Say, is not absence death to those who love ^ 

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away ^ 

Curs'd be the fields that cause my Delia's stay , 

Fade ev'ry blossom, wither ev'ry tree. 

Die evhy flow'r, and perish all, but she 
What have I said ^ Where'er my Delia flies. 

Let spring attend, and sudden flow'rs arise. 

Let op'nmg roses knotted oaks adorn. 

And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn 

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along* 

The birds shall cease to tune their ev'mng song. 

The wmds to breathe, the waving woods to move. 
And streams to murmur, e'er I cease to love 

8 



pastorals 


Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swam. 

Not balmy sleep to labheis famt with pain^ 

Not sho%^hs to larks, oi sunshine to the bee. 

Are hall so chaimmg as thy sight to me 

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away^ 

Come, Delia, come , ah, why this long delay ? 

Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds, 
Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds 
Ye powYs, what pleasing frenzy soothes my mind ^ 
Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kmd ^ 

She comes, my Delia comes ^ — Now cease my lay. 
And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away » 

Next Aegon sung, while W^mdsor gioves admir'd,. 
Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves inspir'd 
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain f 
Of perjur'd Dons, dying 1 complain 
Here, where the mountams, lessening as they rise. 
Lose the low vales, and steal into the skies 
While lab'rmg oxen, spent with toil and heat, 

In their loose traces from the field retreat 
W^hile curling smokes from village tops are seen. 
And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green 
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay^ 
Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day 
Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows. 

While she with garlands hung the bending boughs: 
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away. 

So dies her love, and so my hopes decay 

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful stram^ 
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming gram. 

Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine. 

And gratetul clusters swell with floods of wine , 

Now blushing berries paint tlie yellow grove, 

Just Gods * shall all things yield returns but love ^ 

9 



FOL.MS OF All X AN DDR POPE 


Resound, yc hills, resound my mournful ^ 

The shepherds cry, *Thy flocks are left a prej ~ 

Ah^ what a\ails it me, the flocks to keep, 

Who lost my heait vvliile I pieser\'d my sheep 
Pan came, and ask'd, what magic caus'd m3 smart. 

Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart 
What e3’^es but hers, alas, have pow'r to mo vie ^ 

And IS theie magic but what dwells in love^ 

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strains ^ 
ril fly from shepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains 
From shepheids, flocks, and plains, I may remote, 
forsake mankind, and all the world — but love^ 

I know thee, Love^ on foieign mountains bred, 
Wolves gave thee suck, and savage tigers fed 
Thou wert from Aetna's burning entrails torn. 

Got by fierce whiilwinds, and in thunder bom^ 
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful la3"’ 
Farewell, ye woods, adieu, the light of day^ 

One leap from jmnder chfF shall end my pams. 

No more, ye hills, no more resound my strains ^ 

Thus sung the shepherds till th' appioach of night. 
The skies yet blushing with departing light. 

When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade. 
And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade 


WINTER 

THE FOURTH PASTORAL, OR DAPHNE 
TO IHE MEMORY OF MRS TEMPEST^ 

L y c I D A s Thyrsis, the music of that murm'rmg sprmg 
Is not so mournful as the strains you smg 

1 Mrs Tempest (d 170S) was the friend of Pope's early friend and 
adviser William Walsh (166S-170S), the critic 

10 



FAS'! OK ALS 


Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below. 

So sweetly warble, or so smootlily flow 
Now sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces he. 

The moon, serene in gloiy, mounts the sky. 

While silent birds forget their tuneful lays, 

Oli^sing of Daphne's late, and Daphne's praise * 
THYKsis Behold the gioves that shine with silver frost. 
Their beauty w ither'd, and their verdure lost 
Heie shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain. 

That call'd the list'nmg Dryads to the plain ^ 

Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along. 

And bade his willows learn the moving song 
LYciDAS So may kmd rams their vital moisture yield. 
And swell the future harvest of the field 
Begin , this charge the dying Daphne gave. 

And said, We shepherds, sing around my graved' 

Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn. 

And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn 
THYRSis Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring, 
Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring , 

Ye weepmg Loves, the stream with myrtles hide. 

And break your bows, as when Adonis died , 

And with your golden darts, now useless grown, 

Inscribe a verse on this relentmg stone 

"Let nature change, let heav'n and earth deplore. 

Fair Daphne^s dead, and love is now no more^' 

'Xis done, and nature's various charms decay. 

See gloomy clouds obscure the chearful day’ 

Now hung with pearls the droppmg trees appear. 
Their faded honours scatter'd on her bier 
See, where on earth the flow'ry glories lie. 

With her they flourish'd, and with her they die 
Ah what avail the beauties Nature wore ^ 

Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more’ 

11 



FOrMS OF Al^BXANBBR POFB 

For her the flocks refuse their vei dant food, 

Xhe tliirsty heifers shun the gliding flood. 

The silver swans her hapless fate bemoan. 

In notes more sad than when they smg their own. 
In hollow^ caves sweet Echo silent lies. 

Silent, or only to her name i cplies , 

Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore, 
How Daphne "'s dead, and pleasure is no more^ 

No grateful dews descend from evening skies. 

Nor morning odours from the flow'rs arise; 

No rich pel fumes refresh the fruitful field. 

Nor fragrant herbs their native incense yield 
The balmy Zephyrs, silent since her death. 

Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath, 

Th' industrious bees neglect their golden store ^ 

Fair Daphne's dead, and sweetness is no more ? 

No more the mountmg larks, while Daphne sings. 
Shall listening m mid air suspend their wings , 

No more the birds shall imitate her lays. 

Or hushed with wonder, hearken from the sprays 
No more the streams their murmurs shall forbear, 

A sweeter music than their own to hear. 

But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore. 

Fair Daphne's dead, and music is no more ? 

Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze. 

And told m sighs to all the trembling trees. 

The trembling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood. 

Her fate remurmur to the silver flood , 

Xhe silver flood, so lately calm, appears 
Sweird with new passion, and overflows with tears, 
Xhe wmds, and trees, and floods her death deplore. 
Daphne, our griefs our glory now no more ^ 

But see ^ where Daphne wond'ring mounts on high 
Above the clouds, above the starry sky ! 

IS 



P VSTORALS 


Eternal beauties giace the shining scene, 

F lelds evei fresh, and gi eves for ever green ! 

There while you lest in Amaranthine bowVs, 

Or from those meads select unfading flow'rs. 

Behold us kindl> , who youi name implore, 

Daphne, oui Goddess, and our grief no more^ 
i-YCiD\s How all things listen, while tliy Muse com- 
plains ^ 

Such silence waits on Philomela^s strains, 

In some still ev'nmg, when the whispering bieeze 
Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees 
To thee, bright goddess, oft a lamb shall bleed. 

If teeming ewes increase my fleecy breed 
While plants their shade, or flow'rs their odours give. 
Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise shall live ^ 
THYRSI s But see, Oiion sheds unwholesome dews. 
Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse , 

Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay. 

Tunc conquers all, and we must Time obey 
Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, streams, and groves , 
Adieu, ye shepherds' rural lays, and lov’^es , 

Adieu, my flocks, farewell, ye sylvan ciew. 

Daphne, farewell, and all the world, adieu ^ 


15 



POrMS or AI^CXANDni POPE 


Each might his sev^'ral province well cominand. 
Would all but stoop to what they undei stand 

First follow Natuie, and your judgment frame 
By her just standard, which is still the same 
Uneri mg nature, still divinely bi ight. 

One clear, unchanged, and universal light, 

Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart. 

At once the souice, and end, and test of Art 
Art from that fund each just supply provides , 

Works without show, and without pomp presides , 

In some fair body thus th' informmg soul 
With spiiits feeds, with vigour fills the whole. 

Each motion guides, and evhy nerve sustains. 

Itself unseen, but m th^ effects remains 
Some, to whom Heav'n in wit has been profuse. 
Want as much more to turn it to its use. 

For wit and judgment often are at stiife. 

The' meant each other's aid, like man and wife 
'"I is more to guide, than spur the Muse's steed , 
Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed , 

The winged courser, like a generous horse. 

Shows most true mettle when you check his course. 

Those RULES of old discover'd, not devis'd. 

Are Nature still, but Nature methodiz'd. 

Nature, like Liberty, is but restrain'd 
By the same Laws which first herself ordain'd 

Hear how leam'd Greece her useful rules indites. 
When to repress, and when mdulge our flights: 
High on Parnassus' top her sons she show'd. 

And pointed out those arduous paths they trod , 
Held from afar, aloft, th' immortal prize. 

And urg'd the rest by equal steps to rise 
Just precepts thus from great examples giv'n. 

She drew from them what they deriv'd from Heav'n 

IS 



an kssay on criticism 

The gen'rous Critic frmn'd the Poet'b fiie. 

And taught the world with Reason to admire 
Then Cnticisin the Muse's handmaid proved. 

To dress her charms, and make her more belov’d 
But iollowing wits fiom that intention stray 
Who could not win the mistress, woo'd the maid. 
Against the Poets their own aims they turn'd, 

Suie to hate most the men from whom they leam'd. 
So modern 'Pothecaries, taught the art. 

By Doctor's bills to play the Doctor's part. 

Bold in the practice of mistaken rules. 

Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools 
Some on the leaves of ancient authors pi ey. 

Nor time nor moths e'er spoil'd so much as they 
Some drily plain, without invention's aid. 

Write dull leceipts, how poems may be made 
These leave the sense, their learning to display. 

And those explain the meaning quite away. 

You, then, whose judgment the right course would 
steer. 

Know well each ancient's pioper character. 

His Fable, Subject, scope m ev'ry page. 

Religion, Countiy, genius of his Age, 

Without all these at once before your eyes. 

Cavil you may, but never criticize 
Be Homer's works your study and delight. 

Read them by day, and meditate by night. 

Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring. 
And trace the Muses upward to their spring 
Still with Itself compar'd, his text peruse. 

And let your comment be the Mantuan Muse, 

When first young Maro^ m his boundless mind, 

A work t' outlast immortal Rome design'd, 

t* Virgil - whose family name was Maro (70—19 b c ) , the Roman 
poet. His birth-place was Mantua 

17 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Pei haps he seemM above the Critic’s law. 

And but tiorn Nature’s tountain scorn’d to diaw 
But when t’ examine ev’ry part he came. 

Nature and Homer were, he found, the same 
Convinc’d, amaz’d, he checks the bold design, 

And rules as strict his labour’d woxk confine, > 

As if the Stagirite^ o’erlook’d each line 
Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem. 

To copy nature is to copy them 

Some beauties yet no Precepts can declare. 

For there’s a happmess as w^ell as care 
Music resembles Poetry, in each 

Are nameless graces which no methods teach, >- 
And which a master-hand alone can reach 
If, wheie the rules not far enough extend, 

(Smce rules were made but to promote their end) 
Some lucky licence answer to the full 
Th’ intent propos’d, that licence is a rule 
Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take. 

May boldly deviate from the common track , 

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part. 

And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art, 

Which without passmg through the judgment, gains 
The heart, and all its end at once attains 
In prospects thus, some objects please our eyes, 1 
Which out of nature’s common order rise, V 

The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice J 

Great Wits sometimes may gloriously offend. 

And rise to faults true Critics dare not mend. 

But tho’ the Ancients thus their rules invade, 

( As Kmgs dispense with laws themselves have made ) 
Modems, beware * or if you must offend 
Agamst the precept, ne’er transgress its End , 

1 Aristotle — who was bom at Stagyra — (384~2£ b c ) , the great 
Oreek philosopher who wrote upon the art of poetry 

18 



AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM 

I^et It be seldom, and compelFd by need. 

And ha\ e, at least, their precedent to plead 
Xhe Critic else proceeds without remoise. 

Seizes 3^our lame, and puts his laws in foice 

I know there are, to whose presumptuous thoughts, 
Xhose freer beauties, ev'n m them, seem faults 
Some hguies monstrous and mis-shaped appear. 
Consider'd singljs or beheld too neai , 

Which, but pi oportxon'd to their light, or place. 

Due distance reconciles to form and grace 
x\ prudent chief not always must display 
His pow'is m equal ranks, and fair an ay. 

But with th' occasion and the place comply, 

Conceal his force, seem sometimes to fly 
Xhose oft aie stratagems which errors seem. 

Nor IS It Homer nods, but we that dream 

Still green with bays each ancient Altar stands. 
Above the reach of sacrilegious hands , 

Secure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer rage. 
Destructive War, and all-involving Age 
See from each clime the leam'd their incense bring ^ 
Heai, in all tongues consentmg Paeans rmg^ 

In praise so just let ev'ry voice be join'd. 

And fill the gen'ral chorus of mankmd 
Hail, Bards triumphant * bom m happier days. 
Immortal heirs of universal praise ^ 

Whose honours with mcrease of ages grow. 

As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow. 
Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound. 

And worlds applaud that must not yet be found ^ 

O may some spark of your celestial fire, 

Xlie last, the meanest of your sons inspire, 

(Xhat on weak wmgs, from far, pursues your flights; 
Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes) 

19 



POBMS OF A£.i:X A.HOKR FOFB 


Xo teach vain W'xts a science little known, 

X' admn e superior sense, and doubt their own ! 


IX 

Of all the causes which conspire to blind 
Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mmd. 
What the weak head with stiongest bias rules. 

Is Pride, the never-failing vice of fools 
Whatever Nature has in worth deny'd. 

She gives m large recruits of neediul Pride; 

For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find 
What wants m blood and spirits, swelFd with 
wind 

Pride, where W'lt fails, steps m to our defence. 
And fills up all the mighty Void of sense 
If once right reason drives that cloud away, 

Xruth breaks upon us with resistless day 
Xrust not yourself, but your defects to Imow, 
Make use of ev'ry friend — and ev*ry foe 
A httle learnt7ig is a dang'rous thing. 

Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring 
Xhere shallow draughts intoxicate the brain. 

And drinking largely sobers us again 
Fir'd at first sight witii what the Muse imparts. 
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts, 
While from the bounded level of our mind. 

Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind; 
But, more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise, 
New distant scenes of endless science rise ^ 

So pleas'd at first the tow'rmg Alps we try. 
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky, 
Xh' eternal snows appear already past. 

And die first clouds and moun tarns seem the last: 

SO 



AN BS&AT ON CRITICISM 

But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey 
The gi owing labours of tlie lengthen'd w ay, 

Th' increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes. 
Hills peep o'ei hills, and Alps on Alps arise ^ 

A pel feet Judge will read each woi k of Wit 
\\ nil the same spii it that its author writ 
Sui\ey the wholb, nor seek slight faults to find 
WJiere nature moves, and rapture warms the mind , 
Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight. 

The gen'rous pleasuie to be charm'd with wnt 
But in such lays as neither ebb nor flow. 

Con ectly cold, and regularly low. 

That shunning faults, one quiet tenor keep. 

We cannot blame indeed — but we may sleep 
In Wit, as Natuie, what affects our hearts 
Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts , 

*Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, 

But the joint force and full result of all 
Thus when we view some w’^elhproportion'd dome, 
(The world's just wonder, and ev'n dime, O Rome^) 
No single parts unequally surprise. 

All comes united to th' admiring eyes , 

No monstrous height, or breadth, or length appear , 
The Whole at once is bold, and regular. 

'Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see. 

Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be 
In ev'ry work regard the writer's End, 

Since none can compass more than they mtend , 

And if the means be just, the conduct true. 
Applause, in spight of trivial faults, is due 
As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit, 

T' avoid great errors, must the less commit 
Neglect the rules each verbal Critic lays. 

For not to know some trifles is a praise 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


Most CriticSj, fond of some subservient art. 

Still make the Whole depend upon a Part 
They talk of principles, but notions prize. 

And all to one lov'd Folly sacrifice 

Some to Conceit alone their taste confine. 

And glittVing thoughts struck out at ev'ry line , 
Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit. 

One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit 
Poets, like painters, thus, unskill'd to trace 
The naked nature and the living grace. 

With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part. 

And hide with ornaments their want of art 
True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd. 

What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expiess'd. 
Something, whose truth convinc'd at sight we find, 
That gives us back the image of our mind 
As shades more sweetly recommend the light. 

So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit 
For works may have more wit than does 'em good. 
As bodies perish through excess of blood 
Others for Language all their care express. 

And value books, as women men, for dress 
Their praise is still, — ‘The Style is excellent,' 

The Sense, they humbly take upon content 
Words are like leaves, and where they most abound. 
Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found 
False Eloquence, like the prismatic glass. 

Its gaudy colours spreads on ev'ry place , 

The face of Nature we no more survey. 

All glares alike, without distmction gay , 

But true Expression, like th' unchanging Sun, 
Clears, and improves whatever it shines upon. 

It gilds all objects, but it alters none 



rss-'i.^ ON CRITICISM 


Expression is the di ess ot thought, and still 
A^ipeai s more decent, as more suitable , 

A V lie conceit in pompous \\ ords express’d. 

Is like a clown in regal purple dress’d 

For diff’rent stjles with difF’rent subjects sort. 

As sev’iai garbs with country, town, and court 
Some by old words to fame have made pretence, 

Anc lents in phi ase, mere moderns m their sense , 
Such labour'd nothmgs, in so strange a style. 

Amaze th' unlearn’d, and make the learned smile 

m m m 

In words, as fasluoiio, the same rule will hold. 

Alike fantastic, it too new, or old 

Be not the first by whom the new are try'd. 

Nor yet the last to lay the old aside 

But most by Numbers judge a Poet's song. 

And smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong 
In the bright IVTuse, the' thousand charms conspire. 
Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire , 

Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear. 

Not mend their minds, as some to church repair. 
Not for the doctrine, but the music there 
These equal syllables alone require, 

Xho' oft the ear the open vowels tire , 

While expletives their feeble aid do join. 

And ten low words oit creep in one dull line 
"While they ring round the same unvary'd chimes. 
With sure returns of still expected rhymes. 
Where'er you find *the cooling western breeze,' 

In the next line, it 'whispers through the trees ' 

If crystal streams 'with pleasing murmurs creep'. 
The reader's threaten'd (not xn vam) with 'sleep'* 
Xllen, at the last and only couplet fraught 
Witlh some unmeaning thing they call a thought, 

£3 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 

That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along 
Leave such to tune their own dull ihymes, and luiow 
What^s roundly smooth, or langmshmgly slow , 

And praise the easy vigour ot a line. 

Where Denham's^ strength and Waller’s^ sweetness 
join 

True ease m writing comes from ait, not chance. 

As those move easiest who have learnM to dance 
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence. 

The sound must seem an Echo to the sense , 

Soft IS the stiain when Zephyr gently blows, 

And the smooth stream m smootlier numbers flows 
But when loud sui ges lash the sounding shore. 

The hoaise, rough verse should like the torient roar 
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to ihiow. 
The line too labours, and the words move slows 
Not so, when swuft Camilla scours the plum. 

Flies o'er th' unbending coi n, and skims along the main 
Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays sm prize,^ 

And bid alternate passions fall and rise ’ 

While at each change, the son of Lybian Jove 
Now bums with gloiy, and then melts with love, 
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow. 

Now sighs steal out, and tears begm to flow 
Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found. 

And the World's victor stood subdued by Sounds 
The power of Music all our hearts allow, 

And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now 

1 Sir John Denham (16^15—69), the poet who wrote the famous 
descriptive poem, Cooper*s Hill 

2 See p 2, n 2 

3 Timotheus is the musician described playing before AleX!knder the 
Great in John Dryden’ s ode, Alexander's Feast 

£4 



AN i.SSAY ON CRiriCI^M 


A\oid Extremes, and shun the fault of such 
Wlio still aie pleased too little or too much* 

At ev'ry trifle scorn to take offence 
That always shows great pride, or little sense, 
Xhose heads, as stomachs, are not sure the best 
Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest 
Yet let not each gay Turn thy rapture move. 

For fools admire, but men of sense approve 
As things seem large which we through mists descry, 
Dulness is ever apt to magnify 

Some foreign writers, some our own despise, 

Xlie Ancients only, or the Modems prize 
Xhus Wit, like Faith, by each man is apply "'d 
Xo one small sect, and all are damnM beside 
Meanly they seek the blessmg to confine. 

And force that sun but on a part to shme. 

Which not alone the southern wit sublimes. 

But ripens spirits m cold northern climes ; 

Which from the first has shone on ages past, 
Enlights the present, and shall warm the last, 

Tho' each may feel increases and decays. 

And see now clearer and now darker days 
Regard not then if W'lt be old or new. 

But blame the false, and value still the true 
Some ne'er advance a Judgment of their own. 

But catch the spreadmg notion of the Xown; 

Xhey reason and conclude by precedent. 

And own stale nonsense which they ne'er mvent* 
Some judge of authors'" names, not works, and then 
Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men* 

Of all this servile herd, the worst is he 
Xhat m proud dulness joms with Quality, 

A constant Critic at the great man's board, 

Xo fetch and carry nonsense for my Lord 

£5 



POEMS or ALEXl^DER POPE 


What woiul stuff this madngal would be, 

In some starv'd hackney sonneteei , oi me ^ 

But let a Lord once owtl the happy lines. 

How the wit biightens^ how the stile icfines? 

Befoi e his saci ed name flies ev'ry fault. 

And each exalted stanza teems with thought ^ 

The Vulgar thus through Imitation eir. 

As oft the LearnM by being singulai 
So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng 
By chance go right, they purposely go wrong 
So Schismatics the plain believers quit. 

And ai e but damn'd foi having too much wit 
Some praise at mornmg what they blame at night. 

But always think the last opinion right 
A Muse by these is like a mistress us'd. 

This hour she's idoliz'd, the next abus'd. 

While their weak heads, like towns unfortify'd, 
'Twixt sense and nonsense daily change their side 
Ask them the cause , they're wiser still, they say , 
And still to-morrow's wiser than to-day 
We think our fathers fools, so wise w^'e grow. 

Our wiser sons, no doubt, will thmk us so 
Once School-divines this zealous isle o'erspread, 

Who knew most Sentences, was deepest read , 

Faith, Gospel, all, seem'd made to be disputed, 

And none had sense enough to be confuted 
Scotists and Thomists, now, in peace remain,^ 

Amidst their kindred cobwebs m Ouck-lane ^ 

If Faith itself has diff'rent dresses worn. 

What wonder modes m Wit should take their turn ^ 

1 Two differing theological schools headed by St Thomas Aquinas 
(1225—74) and Duns Scotus ( 1265 ?—l SOS 

2 A place where old and second-hand books were sold formeily, near 
Smithfield P 


26 



AN LSS \Y ON CRITICISM 


Oit, lea\ing what is nattnal and fit, 

"Ihe < uncnt tolly p»o\cb the leady wit. 

And authois think then reputation safe, 

WIirIi h\es as long as tools are pleas'd to laugh 
Some \aliung those of their own side or mind. 

Still make thcnisehes the measuie of mankind 
hondly we tlimk we honoui meiit then, 

When we but praise ourselves in other men 
Parties in Wit attend on those of State, 

And public faction doubles private hate 
Piidc, iMalit-e, Polly, against Drjden rose. 

In various shapes of Parsons, Critics, Beaus , 

But sense surviv'd, when merry jests weie past, 

Foi rising meiit will buoy up at last 

Alight he return, and bless once moie oui eyes. 

New Blackmoies and new Milbourns must arise ^ 
Nay, should great Homer lift his awful head, 

Zoilus^ again would start up from the dead 
Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue, 

But like a shadow, proves the substance true, 

F'or envy'd Wht, like Sol eclips'd, makes known 
Th' opposing body's grossness, not its own 
When first that sun too pow'rful beams displays. 

It draws up vapours w^hich obscure its rays, 

But ev'n those clouds at last adorn its way. 

Reflect new glories, and augment the day 
Be thou the first true merit to befriend , 

His praise is lost, who stays 'till all commend 
Short IS the date, alas, of modern rhymes, 

And 'tis but just to let them live betimes 

3 Sir Richard Blackmore (d 172S) , physician The Rev Luke Mil- 
bourne (1649— 17S0) Both these weie detractors of Dryden and 
dull poets 

2 Zoilus , a malignant critic of Homer 

£7 



POEIVIS or ALBX POPE 


No longei now that golden age appears^. 

When Patriardi-wits surviv'd a thousand yeai s 
Now length of Fame (our second life) is lost. 

And bare threescoie is all ev'n that can boast. 

Our sons their lathers' failing language see. 

And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden be 
So \\ hen the faithful pencil has design'd 
Some bright Idea of the master's nund, 

Wheie a new world leaps out at his command. 

And ready Nature waits upon his hand. 

When the ripe colours soften and unite. 

And sweetly melt into just shade and light , 

'When mellowing years then full pei fection give. 
And each bold figure just begins to live. 

The treachh ous colours the fair ai t betray. 

And all the bright creation fades aw ay * 

Unhappy 'Wit, like most mistaken things. 

Atones not for that envy which it bungs 
In youth alone its empty praise we boast. 

But soon the short-liv'd vanity is lost 

Like some fair flow'r the early spring supplies. 

That gaily blooms, but ev'n m bloommg dies 
What IS tins 'Wit, which must our cares employ 
The owner's wife that other men enjoy. 

Then most our trouble still when most admir'd. 

And still tlie more we give, the more i equir'd , 
"Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease. 
Sure some to vex, but never all to please; 

'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous shun. 

By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone ^ 

If Wit so much from Ign'rance undergo. 

Ah let not Learning too commence its foe I 
Of old, those met rewards who could excel. 

And such were prais'd who but endeavour'd well: 

£8 



an rsN^Y ON ciliricisM 


Tlioiigh triumphs were to gen'ials only due. 

Clowns were reserv'd to grace the soldiers loo 
Now, they who leach Parnassus' lofty crown. 
Employ tlieir pains to spurn some others down. 

And while self-love each jealous writer rules. 
Contending wits become the sport oi fools 
But still the worst with most regiet commend, 
hoi each ill Author is as bad a Friend 
To what base ends, and by what abject ways, 

Ai e mortals urg'd tin ough saci ed lust of praise ^ 

Ah ne'ei so due a thnst of gloiy boast. 

Nor m the Ci itic let the Man be lost 
Good-nature and good-sense must e\er join. 

To err is Iiuinan, to forgive, divine 

But it in noble minds some di egs remain. 

Not yet puig'd off, of spleen and sour disdain. 
Discharge that rage on more provoking ci imes. 

Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times 
No pardon vile Obscenity should find, 

Though wit and art conspire to move your mind , 
But Dulness with Obscenity must prove 
As shameful sure as Impotence m love 
In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and ease. 

Sprung the rank weed, and thriv'd with large increase 
When love was all an easy Monarch's care A 
Seldom at council, never m a war 
Jilts rul'd the state, and statesmen farces writ , 

Nay, Wits had pensions, and young Lords had wit, 
The Fair sat panting at a Courtier's play. 

And not a Mask went unimprov'd away 
The modest fan was lifted up no more. 

And Virgins smil'd at what they blush'd before 

i A reference to the times following- upon the restoration of 
Charles II to the throne m ISOT, 

£9 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


The following license of a Foieign reign 
Did all the di egs of bold Socmus^ drain , 

Then unbelieving Priests reform'' d the nation. 

And taught more pleasant methods of sal\ ation , 
W'here Heaven's free subjects might their i ights dispute^, 
Lest God himself should seem too absolute 
Pulpits their sacred satire learned to spare. 

And Vice admired to find a flatPrer there ^ 

EncouragM thus, WiPs Titans brav'd the skies. 

And the press groan'd with licens'd blasphemies 
These monsters. Critics ^ with your darts engage. 
Here point your thunder, and exhaust your rage ^ 

Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously nice, 

'Will needs mistake an author into vice. 

All seems infected that th' infected spy. 

As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye 


III 

Learn, then, what MoitAEs Critics ought to show , 

For 'tis but half a Judge's task to know 

'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning join. 

In all you speak, let truth and candour shine 
That not alone what to your sense is due 
All may allow , but seek your friendship too 
Be silent always, when you doubt your sense , 
And speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence 
Some positive, persisting fops we know, 

AVho, if once wrong, will needs be always so ; 

But you, with pleasure own your errors past. 

And make each day a Critique on the last 
'Tis not enough your counsel still be true. 

Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do, 
1 The propounder of the heresy called Socmzanism 

30 



VN i:SSA.\ ON CRiriCI&M 


Jvlen must be taught as it you taught them not^ 

And tliUigs unluiown propos'd as things forgot 
\\ ithout Good-Breeding, truth is disappio\'d, 

Xliat onl;^ makes supeiior sense belov'd 
Be niggards ot advice on no pretence , 

For the worst a\arice is that of sense 
W itli mean complaisance ne'er betray your trust. 

Nor be so civil as to pro\e unjust 
Feai not the anger of the wise to raise, 

Xhose best can bear reproof, who merit praise 

'Twere w^ell might Critics still this freedom take. 
But Appius reddens at each word you speak. 

And stares, tremendous, with a threatening eye. 

Like some fierce Xyrant m old tapestry 
Fear most to tax an Honourable fool. 

Whose right it is, uncensur'd, to be dull. 

Such, without wit, are Poets when they please. 

As without learning they can take Degrees 
Leave dang'rous truths to unsuccessful Satires, 

And flattery to fulsome Dedicators, 

Whom, when they praise, the world believes no more, 
Xhan when they promise to give scribbling o'er 
'Xis best sometimes your censure to restrain. 

And charitably let the dull be vam* 

Y our silence there is better than your spite. 

For who can rail so long as they can write ^ 

Still humming on, their drouzy course they keep. 
And lash'd so long, like tops, are lash'd asleep 
False steps but help them to renew the race. 

As, after stumbling. Jades will mend their pace 
What crowds of these, impenitently bold. 

In sounds and jmglmg syllables grown old. 

Still run on Poets, m a raging vein, 

Ev'n to the dregs and squeezings of the brain, 

31 



POEMS OF AEEXANOEK FOPB 


Strain out the last dull droppings of their senses, 

And rhyme with all the rage of Impotence ^ 

Such shameless Bards we have , and yet "tis true^, 
There are as mad, abandoned Critics too 
The bookful blockliead, ignorantly read, 

AVith loads of learned lumber in his head, 

'With his own tongue still edifies his ears. 

And always listening to himsell appears 
All books he reads, and all he reads assails. 

From Dryden^s Fables down to JDui fey's Tales ^ 
W'lth him most authors steal their works, or buy. 
Garth did not write his own Dispensary^ 

Name a new play, and he's the Poet's friend, 

Nay, show'd his faults — but when would Poets mend ^ 
No place so sacred from such fops is barr'd. 

Nor IS Paul's church more safe than Paul’s church yard ® 
Nay, fly to Altars, there they'll talk you dead 
For Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread 
Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks. 

It still looks home, and short excursions makes , I 
But rattling nonsense m full vollies breaks. 

And never shock’d, and never turn'd aside. 

Bursts out, resistless, with a thund'rmg tide 

But where's the man, who counsel can bestow. 

Still pleas'd to teach, and yet not proud to know ^ 
Unbiass'd, or by favour, or by spite, 

Not dully prepossess'd, nor blindly right. 

The' learn'd, well-bred, and tho' well-bred, sincere. 

Modestly bold, and humanly severe 

Who to a friend his faults can fi eely show. 

And gladly praise the merit of a foe ^ 

1 Tom D’lJrfey ( 1653— 1 723) , poet and dramatist 
S See p 4, n 2 

S St Paul’s Cathedral was once a fashionable resort for idlers 

32 



AIN ESSAY ON CRIliCISM 


Blest with a taste exact, yet unconfin^d, 

A letiow ledge botli ot books and human kii'^d , 
Genhous coti\eise, a soul exempt fioni piide. 
And lo\e to praise, witli reason on his side ^ 

Such once were Ciitics, such the happy few, 
Athens and Home in better ages knew 
Xhe mighty Stagirite hi st left the shore. 

Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore. 
He steer ki securely, and discover'd fai , 

Led by^ the light of the JMaeonian star ^ 

Poets, a race long unconfm'd, and free. 

Still fond and proud of savage liberty^ 

Receiv'd his laws, and stood convinc'd 'twas fit, 
'Who conquer'd Nature, should preside o'er "Wit. 

Plorace still charms with graceful negligence. 
And without method talks us into sense. 

Will, like a fi lend, familiarly convey 
Xhe truest notions m the easiest way 
He who, supreme m judgment, as m wit, 

Ivlight boldly censure, as he boldly writ. 

Yet judg'd with coolness, tho' he sung with fire; 
His Precepts teach but what his works inspire. 
Our Critics take a contrary extreme, 

Xhey judge wnth fury, but they write with phlegm 
Nor suffers Horace more m wrong Xranslations 
By Wits, tiian Critics m as wrong Quotations, 

Xhus long succeeding Critics justly reign'd. 
Licence repress'd, and useful laws oi darn'd 
Learning and Rome alike m empire grew. 

And Arts still follow'd where her Eagles flew. 
From the same foes, at last, both felt their doom. 
And the same age saw Learning fall, and Rome 

1 Homer* 

3S 



CO 10 


POLMS OF ALCXANDER POPE 


With Tj^r army then Superstition join'd, 

As that the body, this enslav'd the mind , 

Much was believ'd, but little understood, 

And to be dull was constru'd to be good, 

A second deluge Learning thus o'ei~iun. 

And the Monks finish'd what the Goths begun 
At length Erasmus, that great injui'd name, 

(The glory of the Priesthood, and the shamed) 
Stem'd the wild torrent of a barb'rous age. 

And diove those holy Vandals off the stage 
But see ^ each Muse, in Leo's golden days. 

Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays, 
Rome's ancient Genius, o'er its rums spread. 

Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev 'rend head 
Then Sculpture and her sister-arts reviv^'e , 

Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live , 

With sweeter notes each rismg Temple lung 
A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung ^ 

Immortal Vida on whose honoui'd brow 
The Poet's bays and Critic's ivy grow, 

Cremona now shall ever boast thy name. 

As next in place to Mantua,^ next m fame^ 

But soon by impious arms from Latium chas'd. 
Their ancient bounds the banish'd Muses pass'd , 
Thence Arts o'er all the northern world advance. 

But Critic-learning flourish'd most in France 
The rules a nation, born to serve, obeys , 

And Boileau still m right of Horace sways ® 

But we, brave Britons, foreign laws despis'd. 

And kept unconquer'd, and uncivilis'd, 

1 Vida, an excellent Latin poet, who writ an Art of Poetry in verse 
He flourished in the time of Leo X JR 
See p 17, n 1 

Nicolas Boileau (16SS— 1711), French critic and poet 

34 ? 



AN ESS \Y ON CRITICISM 

1 leue lor the liberties ol wit, and bold, 

W c still del} 'd the Romans, as of old 

'\et some theie weie, among the soundei lew 

Ot those who less piesuni'd, and better knew, 

W ho din St asscit the juster ancient cause, 

And here restoi'd \\ it^s tundamental laws 

bucli was the MuseA wdiose rules and piactice tell, 

'Natiue's chief Masterpiece is writing well ' 

Such w^as Roscommon,- not more learned than good. 
With manneis genhous as his noble blood, 

"lo him the wit of Greece and Rome was Ivnown, 

And e\'ry authoi's merit, but his own 

Such late wds Walsh^ — the Muse’s judge and friend, 

\\ ho justly knew to blame or to commend , 

To ladings mild, but zealous for desert. 

The deal est head, and the sincerest heart 
'Ihis humble praise, lamented shaded recei\e. 

This praise at least a grateful Muse may give 
The Muse, whose early voice you taught to sing, 
Prescrib’d her heights, and prun’d her tender wing, 
(Her guide now lost) no more attempts to rise. 

But in low numbers short excursions tries 
Content, if hence th’ unleam'd their wants may view,. 
The leain’d reflect on what before they knew 
Careless of censure, nor too fond of lame , 

Still pleas’d to praise, yet not afraid to blame , 

Averse alike to flatter, or offend , 

Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend 

1 The Duke of Buckingham ( 1648-1721 ) , politician, poetaster, and 
friend of Pope^s 

2 Wentworth Dillon, Earl of Roscommon ^ poet and 

critic 

3 See p 10, n 1 


35 



TKOM 


WINDSOR-FOREST 

FIELD-SPORTS 

Y E vig’! ous swains ’ while youth ferments youi blood. 
And purer spirits swell the sprightly flood. 

Now range the hills, the gameful woods beset, 

Wind the shrill horn, or spread the waving net 
When milder autumn summer’s heat succeeds. 

And in the new-shorn field the parti idge feeds. 
Before his lord the ready spaniel bounds. 

Panting with hope, he tries the furrow’d grounds , 
But when the tamted gales the game beti ay. 

Couch’d close he lies, and meditates the prey 
Secure they trust th’ unfaithful field beset. 

Till hov’nng o’er ’em sweeps the swelling net 
Thus (if small things we may with gieat compare) 
When Albion sends her eager sons to war. 

Some thoughtless Town, with ease and plenty blest. 
Near, and moie near, the closmg Imes invest, 

Sudden they seize th’ amaz’d, defenceless prize. 

And high in air Britannia’s standard flies 

See ’ from the brake the whirrmg pheasant sprmgs. 
And mounts exultmg on triumphant wings 
Short IS his joy , he feels the fiery wound. 

Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground 
Ah f what avail his glossy, varying dyes. 

His purple crest, and scarlet-circled eyes. 

The vivid green his shining plumes imfold. 

His painted wmgs, and breast that flames with gold ? 

Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky. 

The woods and fields their pleasmg toils deny 

36 



WINDSOR-rOKCSr 


To plains with well-breath'd beagles we lepair. 

And ti ace the ma^es oi the cii cling hat e 
(Beasts, urg^d by us, their fellow-beasts pursue. 
And leal 11 of man each otlier to undo ) 

With slaugbthing guns th' umveaiicd fowder io\es. 
When fiosts have whiten'd all the naked gioves, 
Wheie do\es m flocks the leafless tiees o'ershade. 
And lonely woodcocks haunt the wat'ry glade 
He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye, 

Stiaight a short thunder breaks the frozen sky 
Oft, as m airy rings they skim the heath. 

The clanihous lapwings feel the leaden death 
Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare. 
They fall, and lea\e their little lives in air 

In genial spi mg, beneath the quiv'ring shade, 

\\ hei e cooling vapours breathe along the mead. 
The patient fisher takes his silent stand. 

Intent, his angle trembling in his hand 
W ith looks immov'd, he hopes the scaly breed. 

And eyes the dancing coik, the bending reed 
Our plenteous sti earns a various race supply. 

The bright-ey'd perch with fins of Tyrian dye. 

The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd. 

The yellow carp, in scales bediop'd with gold. 

Swift trouts, diversify'd with crimson stains. 

And pykes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains 
Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery car 
The youth rush eager to the sylvan war. 

Swarm o'er the lawns, the forest walks surround, 
Rouze the fleet hart, and cheer the opening hound* 
Th' impatient courser pants m ev'ry vein. 

And pawing, seems ta beat the distant plain 
Hills, vales, and floods appear already ci^oss'd. 

And ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost 

37 



ponMs oi ALnxA>4i>nR popi: 


See the bold youth strain up the threatening steep, 
Rush through the thickets, down the vallej^s sweep. 
Hang o’er their coursei s* heads with eagei speed. 
And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed 


SS 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 

\N HJbKOI-COMIC 'VL POEM 

ID MRS ARABELLA FERMOE" 

\I \0 VM, 

1 r will be in \aHi to deny that I have some regard for this 
piece, since I dedicate it to You Yet 30U may bear me Witness, 
it was intended only to divert a tew young Ladies, who have 
good sense and good humour enough to laugh not only at their 
sex’s little unguarded follies, but at their own But as it w^as 
communicated with the air of a Secret, it soon found its way 
into the woild Aii imperfect copy having been offer’d to a 
Bookseller, you had the good-nature for my sake to consent to 
the publication of one more correct This I was forc’d to, 
before I had executed half my design, for the Machinerj^ was 
entirely wanting to complete it 

1 he Machinery, Madam, is a term invented by the Critics, 
to signify that part wdiich the Deities, Angels, or Demons, are 
made to act in a Poem For the ancient Poets are in one 1 espect 
like many modern Ladies let an action be never so trivial m 
Itself, they alwajs make it appear of the utmost importance 
These Machines I determin’d to laise on a very new and odd 
foundation, the Rosier ucian doctrme of Spirits 

I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard words 
before a Lady , but ’tis so much the concern of a Poet to have 
his woi ks understood, and particularly by your Sex, that you 
must give me leave to explain two 01 three difficult terms 
The Rosicrucians are a people I must bring you acquainted 
with The best account I know of them is in a French book 
call’d Le Comte de Gahahs, which both in its title and size is so 
like a Novel, that many of the Fair Sex have read it for one by 
mistake According, to these Gentlemen, the four Elements are 
inhabited by Spirits which they call Sylphs, Gnomes, Nymphs, 

1 Lord Petre, the Baron of the poem, cut off a lock of Miss Arabella 
Fermor's hair, which occasioned a quarrel between their two 
families Pope, at the instigation of a mutual friend, John Caryll, 
wrote this poem to heal the breach 

SB 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


and Salamanders The Gnomes or Demons of Earth delight m 
mischief, but the Sylphs, whose habitation is m the Air, are the 
best condition’d creatures imaginable I* or they say, any mor- 
tals may enjoy the most intimate familiarities with these gentle 
Spirits, upon a condition very easy to all tiue xAdepts, an in- 
violate preservation of Chastity 

As to the following Cantos, all the passages of them are as 
fabulous, as the Vision at the beginning, or the Transforma- 
tion at the end, (except the loss of your Hair, which 1 always 
mention wuth reverence ) The Human persons are as fictitious 
as the Airy ones , and the character of Belinda, as it is now 
manag’d, resembles you in nothing but in Beauty 

It this Poem had as many Graces as there are in your Per- 
son, or m your Mind, yet I could never hope it should pass 
through the world half so Uncensur'd as You have done But 
let Its fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough, to have 
given me this occasion of assuring you that I am, with the 
truest esteem. 

Madam, 

Tour most ohedtent, humble servant^ 

A POPE 


CANTO I 

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs. 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, 

I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse ^ is due 
This, ev’n Belmda may vouchsafe to view 
Slight IS the subject, but not so the praise. 

If She mspire, and He approve my lays 

Say what strange motive. Goddess ^ could compel 
A well-bred Lord t* assault a gentle Belle ^ 

O say what stranger cause, yet unexplored. 

Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord ^ 

In tasks so bold, can little men engage. 

And m soft bosoms, dwells such mighty Rage 

40 



1 Iir RAPE OF THE EOCIx 


Sol, tlirougli white curtams shot a tinihous 
And ope'd those eyes tliat must eclipse the day 
Now lap'-dogs gl^e themselves the rousing’ shake 
And sleepless io\ ei s, just at twelve, awake 
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock ’'d the ground^ 
And the press'd watch returned a silver sound 
Belinda still her downy pillow prest, 

Her guardian Syeph prolong'd the balmy rest 
'Xwas He had summon'd to her silent bed 
The moinmg-dream that hover'd o'er her head, 

A Youth more glitt'rmg than a Birth-mght Beau, 
(That ev'n m slumber caus'd her cheek to glow) 
Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay. 

And thus in whispers said, or seem'd to say 
Tairest of mortals, thou distinguish'd care 
Of tliousand bright Inhabitants of Air ^ 

If e'er one Vision touch thy mfant thought. 

Of all the Nurse and all the Priest have taught, 

Of mry Elv es by moonlight shadows seen. 

The Sliver token, and the circled green. 

Or virgins visited by Angel-pow'rs 

With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs , 

Hear and believe ^ thy own importance know. 

Nor bound thy narrow views to things below 
Some secret truths, from learned pride conceal'd. 

To Maids alone and Children are reveal'd 
What tho' no credit doubting Wits may give ^ 

The Fair and Innocent shall still believe 
Ihiow then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly. 

The light Militia of the lower sky 
These, tho' unseen, are ever on the wing. 

Hang o'er the Box, and hover round the Rmg ^ 

1 A fashionable parade in Hyde Park 



P0I:MS of ALBXANDFIl POPE 


Think what an equipage thou hast in Air, 

And view with scorn two Pages and a Chair 
As now your own, our beings were of old. 

And once inclosed m Woman*s beauteous mould. 

Thence, by a soft transition, we repaii 

hiom earthly Vehicles to these of air 

Think not, when Woman^s transient bieath is fled. 

That all her vanities at once ai e dead , 

Succeeding vanities she still regaids. 

And tho'' she plays no more, overlooks the caids 
Her joy in gilded Chariots, when alive. 

And love of Ombre, after death survive 
For when the Fair in all their pride expire. 

To their first Elements their Souls letire 
The Sprites of fiery Termagants m Flame 
Mount up, and take a Salamander's name 
Soft yielding minds to Water glide away, 

And sip, with Nymphs, their elemental Tea 
The gi aver Prude sinks downward to a Gnome, 

In search of mischief still on Earth to roam 
The light coquettes m Sylphs aloft repair. 

And sport and flutter in the fields of air 

*Know farther yet, whoever fan and chaste 
Rejects mankind, is by some Sylph embrac'd 
For Spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease 
Assume what sexes and what shapes they please 
W'hat guards the purity of melting Maids, 

In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades. 

Safe from the treacherous friend, the daring spark. 
The glance by day, the whisper m the dark, 

When kind occasion prompts their warm desires. 
When music softens, and when dancing fires ^ 

'Tis but their Sylph, the wise Celestials know. 
Though Honour is the word with Men below 

4£ 



TH}. RAFB or THr rocK 


^Some nymphs theie are, too conscious of their face. 
For life piedestin’'d to the Gnomes embrace 
These swell their piospects and exalt tlieii piide. 
When oilers aie clisdamM, and love deny’d. 

Then gay Ideas ciowd the vacant brain. 

While Pceis, and Dukes, and all their sweeping 
ti am. 

And Gaiters, Stais, and Cojonets appear. 

And m soft sounds, *Your Ghaot.* salutes their ear 
"'Tis these that early taint the female soul, 

Instiuct the ey^es of young Coquettes to roll. 

Teach Iniant'-cheeks a bidden blush to know. 

And little hearts to flutter at a Beau 

*Ott, when the world imagine women stray. 

The Sylphs through mystic mazes guide their way. 
Through all the giddy circle they pursue. 

And old impertmence expell by new 
What tender maid but must a victim fall 
To one man's treat, but for another's ball ^ 

When Florio speaks, what vii gin could withstand. 

If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand ^ 

With varying vanities, from ev'ry part. 

They shift the moving Toyshop of their heart. 
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword- 
knots strive. 

Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive. 

This erring mortals Levity may call. 

Oh, blind to truth ^ the Sylphs contrive it all. 

'Of these am I, who thy protection claim, 

A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. 

Late, as I rang'd the crystal wilds of air. 

In the clear Mirror of thy rulmg Star 
I saw, alas ^ some dread event impend. 

Ere to the mam this morning sun descend, 

43 c 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPP 


But heaven reveals not what, or how, or where 
Warn^’d by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware^ 

This to disclose is all thy guardian can 
Beware ol all, but most beware of 

He said , when Shock, who thought she slept too long, 
LeapM up, and wak'd his mistress wuth his tongue 
'Twas then, Belinda, if report say true. 

Thy eyes first open'd on a Billet-doux , 

AVounds, Charms, and Ardours, were no sooner read. 
But all the Vision vanish'd from thy head 

And now, unveil'd, the Toilet stands display'd. 
Each silver Vase m mystic order laid 
First, rob'd in white, the Nymph intent adores. 

With head uncover'd, the Cosmetic pow'rs 
A heav'nly Image in the glass appeal s. 

To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears, 

Th' inferior Priestess, at her altar's side, 

Tremblmg begins the sacred rites of Pride 
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here 
The various ofF'rmgs of the world appear. 

From each she nicely culls with curious toil. 

And decks the Goddess with the glitt'ring spoil. 

This casket India's glowing gems unlocks. 

And all Arabia breathes from yonder box 
The Tortoise here and Elephant unite. 

Transform'd to combs, the speckled, and the white 
Here files of pins extend their shming rows. 

Puffs, Powders, Patches, Bibles, Billet-doux 
Now awful Beauty puts on all its arms. 

The fair each moment rises in her charms. 

Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace. 

And calls forth all the wonders of her face , 

Sees by degrees a purer blush arise. 

And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes 



THE K\PE OF IHE TOOK 


The bus3r S3flphs surround their darling cai e. 

These set the head, and those divide the hair. 

Some fold the sleeve, vvdiilst otheis plait the gown. 
And Betty's prais'd for labouis not her own 


CANTO II 

Not with more glories, in th' ethereal plain. 

The Sun first rises o'^er the purpled mam. 

Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams 

Launch'd on the bosom of the silver Thames 

Fair Nymphs, and w^ell-drest Youths around her shone. 

But ev'ry was fix'd on her alone 

On hei white breast a spaiklmg Cross she wore. 

Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore. 

Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, 

Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as those 
Favours to none, to all she smiles extends. 

Oft she rejects, but never once offends 
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike. 

And, like the sun, they shine on all alike 
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride. 

Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults to hide 
If to her share some female errors fall. 

Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all 
This Nymph, to the destruction of mankind, 
Nourish'd two Locks, which graceful hung behind 
In equal curls, and well conspir'd to deck 
With shining ringlets the smooth iv'ry neck. 

Love m these labyrinths his slaves detains. 

And mighty hearts are held m slender chains 
With hairy springes we the birds betray. 

Slight lines of hair surpi ise the finny prey, 

4<5 



FOB MS OF AI-EXANDBR FOPB 


Fair tresses man's imperial race msnare. 

And beauty diaws us with a single hair 

Xh' adventurous Baron the bright lochs admn 'd ; 
He saw, he wish'd, and to the prize aspir'd 
Resolv'd to wm, he meditates the way. 

By force to ravish, or by fraud betray. 

For when success a Lover's toil attends. 

Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his ends 
For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had implor'd 
Propitious Heav'n, and ev'ry pow'r adoi 'd. 

But chiefly Love to Love an Altar built. 

Of twelve vast French Romances, neatly gilt 
Xhere lay three garteis, half a pair of gloves. 

And all the trophies of his former loves , 

With tender Billet-<ioux he lights the pyre. 

And breathes three am'rous sighs to raise the fire 
Xhen prostrate falls, and begs with ardent ejes 
Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize 
Xhe pow'rs gave ear, and granted half his pray'r, 
Xhe 1 est, the winds dispers'd m empty air 
But now secure the painted vessel glides, 

Xhe sun-beams trembling on the floatmg tides 
While melting music steals upon the sky. 

And soften'd sounds along the waters die , 

Smooth flow the waves, the Zephyrs gently play, 
Belmda smil'd, and all the world was gay 
All but the Sylph — with careful thoughts opprest, 
Xh' impending woe sat heavy on his breast 
He summons straight his Denizens of air , 

Xhe lucid squadrons round the sails repair , 

Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, 
Xhat seem'd but Zephyrs to the tram beneath 
Some to the sun their msect-wings unfold. 

Waft on the breeze, or smk m clouds of gold^ 



IHE KAFJC OF 'THU JLOCK 


Tian<?parcnt foims, too fine for mortal sight, 

T. heir fluid bodies half dissoWd m light 
Loose to the wmd their sary gai ments flew, 

"ihm glitthmg textures of the filmy dew. 

Dipt m the richest tincture of the skies, 

Whcie light disports in ever-minglmg dyes, 

^^"hile ev'^ry beam new transient colours fimgs, 
Colours that change whene'er they wave then wings. 
Amid the ciicle, on tlie gilded mast, 

Siipei loi by the head, was Ariel plac'd , 

His purple pinions op'mng to the sun. 

He lais'd his azure wand, and thus begun 

*Y'e S^dphs and Sylphids, to your chiei give ear. 
Fays, hanies, Oenii, Elves, and Demons hear^ 

Ye know the spheres and various tasks assign'd 
By laws eternal to th' aerial kind 
Some in the fields of purest Ether play. 

And bask and whiten m the blaze of day 
Some guide the course of wand'ring orbs on high. 
Or 1 oil the planets through the boundless sky 
Some less refin'd, beneath the moon's pale light 
Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night. 

Or suck the mists m grosser air below. 

Or dip their pinions m the pamted bow. 

Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry mam. 

Or o'er the glebe distil the kindly ram 
Others on earth o'er human race preside, 

"Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide: 

Of these the chief the care of Nations own. 

And guard with Arms divme the British Throne 
*Our humbler province is to tend the Fair, 

Not a less pleasing, tho' less glorious care , 

To save the powder from too rude a gale. 

Nor let th' imprison'd essences exhale , 

^7 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow Ys , 

To steal fiom rainbows, e*er they drop in showYs 
A brightei wash, to curl their waving hairs. 

Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs , 

Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow. 

To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelow 

'This day, black Omens threat the brightest Fair 
That e'er deserv'd a watchful spirit's care , 

Some dire disaster, or by force, or slight. 

But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night 
Whethei the nymph shall break Diana's law. 

Or some frail China jar receive a flaw. 

Or stain her honour, or her new brocade , 

Foiget her pray'rs, or miss a masquerade. 

Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball , 

Or whether Heav'n has doom'd that Shock must fall 
Haste then, ye spirits ^ to your charge repair 
The fluttYing fan be ZephyrettaY care , 

The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign. 

And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine. 

Do thou, Crispissa, tend her fav'rite Lock, 

Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock 
‘To fifty chosen Sylphs, of special note. 

We trust th' important charge, the Petticoat 
Oft have we known that seven-fold fence to fail, 
Xho' stiff with hoops, and arm'd with ribs of whale , 
Form a strong line about the silver bound. 

And guaid the wide circumference around 
‘Whatever spirit, careless of his charge. 

His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large. 

Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'er take his sms. 

Be stop'd in vials, or transfix'd with pms , 

Or plung'd in lakes of bitter washes he, 

Or wedg'd whole ages in a bodkin's eye 

4^8 



TIIF RAPE OF THF EOCK 


Gums aiid Pomatums shall his flight restiam. 
While, clog'd, he beats his silken wings in \am. 
Or Alum snptics with contracting pow V 
Shrink his thin essence like a riveFd fiow'r 
Or, as Ixion fix'd, the wretch shall feel 
The giddy motion of the whirling Mill, 

In fumes of burning Chocolate shall glow. 

And tremble at the sea that froths below 

He spoke , the spirits from the sails descend , 
Some, orb in orb, ai ound the nymph extend , 
Some thrid the mazy rmglets of hei hair. 

Some hang upon the pendants of her ear. 

With beating heaits the dire event they wait. 
Anxious, and trembling for the birth of Fate. 


CANTO III 

C L o s B by those meads, for ever crown'd with flow'rs, 
Whei e Thames with pride surveys his rising tow'rs. 
There stands a structure of majestic frame. 

Which from the neighboring Hampton takes its name 
Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom 
Of foreign Tyrants, and of Nymphs at home. 

Here thou, great Anna^ whom three realms obey. 
Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes Tea 
Hither the Heroes and the Nymphs resort. 

To taste awhile the pleasures of a Court, 

In various talk th' instructive hours they past. 

Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last , 

One speaks the glory of the British Queen, 

And one describes a charming Indian screen , 

A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes. 

At ev'ry word a reputation dies 

40 



FOCMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Snuffy or the fan, supply each pause of chat. 

With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that 
Mean while, declining fi om the noon ot day. 

The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray. 

The hungry Judges soon the sentence sign. 

And wretches hang that Jury~nien dine. 

The merchant from th"" Exchange returns m peace. 
And the long labouis of the Toilet cease 
Belinda now, whom tliirst of fame invites. 

Burns to encounter two adventurous Knights, 

At Ombre^ singly to decide their doom, 

And swells her breast with conquests yet to come 
Straight the three bands piepare in arms to jom. 

Each band the number of the sacred Nine 
Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aerial guard 
Descend, and sit on each important card 
First Aiiel perch'd upon a Matadore, 

Then each according to the i ank they bore , 

For Sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race. 

Are, as when women, wondVous fond of place 
Behold, four Kings in majesty rever'd. 

With hoary whiskers and a forky beard. 

And four fair Queens whose hands sustain a fiow'r, 
Th' expressive emblem of their softer pow'r. 

Four Knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band. 

Caps on their heads, and halberts in their hand , 

And particoloured troops, a shining train. 

Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain 

The skilful Nymph reviews her force with care 
Xet Spades be trumps^' she said, and trumps they 
were 

Now move to war her sable Matadores, 

In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors 
1 A card game played by three players with a pack of forty cards. 

50 



IIIE RAPE or IIIi: EOCK 


Spadillio^ first, unconquerable Loid^ 

Led oft two captive trumps, and swept the boaid 
As many more Mamlho^ foicM to 3neld, 

And march'd a \ictor fioni the \crdant field 
Ilini Basto® follow'd, but his fate more hard 
Gam'd but one trump and one Plebeian caid 
W^ith his broad sabre next, a chief m 3 ears. 

The hoary Majesty of Spades appears. 

Puts foith one manly leg, to siglit levcal'd. 

The rest, his manj'-colour'd robe conceal'd 
The rebel Knave, who dares his prince engage. 
Proves the just victim of his royal rage 
Ev'n mighty Pam*^, that Kings and Queens o'er-threw 
And mow'd down armies in the fights oi Loo, 

Sad chance of war^ now destitute of aid. 

Falls undistinguished by the victor Spade? 

Thus far both aimies to Belinda yield. 

Now to the Baron fate inclines the field 
His w arlike Amazon her host invades, 

Th' imperial consort of the crown of Spades 
The Club's black Tyrant fiist her victim dy'd. 

Spite of his haughty mien, and barb'rous pride 
What boots the regal circle on his head. 

His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread. 

That long behind he trails hxs pompous robe, 

And, of all monarchs, only grasps the globe 

The Bai on now his Diamonds pours apace , 

Th' embroider'd King who shows but half his face. 
And his refulgent Queen, with pow'rs combm'd. 

Of broken troops an easy conquest find 
Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder seen. 
With throngs promiscuous strow the level green 

1 Ace of Spades £ Two of Spades 

& Ace of Clubs 4 Knave of Clubs 

SI 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


Thus when dispersed a routed army ruiis^ 

Of Asians troops, and Afric’s sable sons, 

AVith like confusion different nations fly. 

Of various habit and of various dye , 

The pierc'd battalions disunited fall. 

In heaps on heaps, one fate o'erw helms them all 
The Knave of Diamonds tries his w il^^ arts. 

And wins ( oh shameful chance ^ ) the Queen of Hearts 
At this, the blood the virgin's cheek forsook, 

A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look. 

She sees, and trembles at th' approachmg ill. 

Just m the jaws of rum, and Codille^ 

And now, (as oft in some distemper'd State) 

On one nice Trick depends the gen'ral fate 
An Ace of Hearts steps forth the King unseen 
Luik'd m her hand, and mourn'd his capti\e Queen 
He springs to vengeance with an eager pace. 

And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace 
The nymph, exulting, fills with shouts the sky. 

The walls, the woods, and long canals reply 
O thoughtless mortals ^ ever blind to fate. 

Too soon dejected, and too soon elate 
Sudden these honours shall be snatch'd away. 

And curs'd for ever this victorious day 

For lo ^ the board with cups and spoons is 
crown'd. 

The berries crackle, and the mill turns round , 

On shmmg altars of Japan they raise 
The silver lamp , the fiery spirits blaze 
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide, 

W^hile China's earth receives the smokmg tide 
At once they gratify their sense and taste, 

Ajtid frequent cups prolong the rich repast 
1 Loss of the game 
5 ^ 



THE RAPE or iHB lOCK 

Straight hover round the Fan hex airy band , 

Some, a5 she sipp'd, the fuming liquor fann'd. 

Some o'er her lap their careful plumes display'd. 
Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade 
Coffee (which makes the politician wise. 

And see through all things with his hall-shut eyes) 
Sent up m vapours to the Baron's brain 
Xew stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain 
Ah cease, rash youth ^ desist ere 'txs too late, 

Feai the just Gods, and think of Scylla's Fate^ 
Chang'd to a bird, and sent to flit in air. 

She dearly pays for Nisus' injur'd hair^ 

But when to mischief mortals bend their will. 
How soon they find fit mstruments of ill ^ 

Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting grace 
A two-edg'd weapon from her shining case 
So Ladies m Romance assist their Knight, 

Present the spear, and arm him for the fight 
He takes the gift with rev'rence, and extends 
The little engine on his fingers' ends , 

This just behind Belinda's neck he spread. 

As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her head 
Swift to the Lock a thousand Sprites repair, 

A thousand wmgs, by turns, blow back the hair, 
And thrice they twitch'd the diamond in her ear. 
Thrice she look'd back, and thrice the foe drew near 
Just m that instant, anxious Ariel sought 
The close recesses of the Virgin's thought. 

As on the nosegay in her breast reclin'd. 

He watch'd th' ideas rising m her mind, 

Sudden he view'd, m spite of all her art. 

An earthly Lover lurking at her heart 
Amaz'd, confus'd, he found his pow'r expir'd. 
Resign'd to fate, and with a sigh retir'd 

58 



POEMS or AEEXANDEK FOFi: 


The Peer now spreads the ghttVmg Forfex wide, 

T' inclose the Lock , now joins it, to divide 
Ev'n then, befoxe the fatal engine clos'd, 

A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos'd , 

Fate urg'd the sheers, and cut the Sylph m twain, 

(But airy substance soon unites again) 

The meeting promts the sacred hair dissever 
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever ^ 

Then flash'd the living lightnmg from her eyes. 
And SCI earns of horror rend th' affrighted skies 
Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast, 

Vv^hen husbands, or when lap-dogs breathe their last. 
Or when rich China vessels, fall'n fiom high. 

In glitt'img dust and painted fragments lie^ 

Tet wreaths of triumph now my temples tw me, 
(The Victor cry'd) the glorious Prize is mine^ 

While fish in streams, or birds delight m air. 

Or in a coach-and-six the British Fair, 

As long as Atalantis^ shall be read. 

Or the small pillow grace a Lady's bed. 

While visits shall be paid on solemn days, 

V/hen num'rous wax-lights m bright order blaze. 
While nymphs take treats, or assignations give. 

So long my honour, name, and praise shall live 

What Time would spare, from Steel receives its 
date. 

And monuments J like men, submit to fate ^ 

Steel could the labour of the Gods destroy. 

And strike to dust th' imperial tow'rs of Troy, 

Steel could the works of mortal pride confound. 

And hew triumphal arches to the ground 

What wonder then, fair nymph * thy hairs should feel 

The conqu'ring force of unresisted Steel ^ 

1 A scandalous romance by Mrs Manley ( 1GS3~17£4) 

54 



tiijC KAFr or i hb bock: 


CANl O iV 

But aqxious cares the pensive nymph oppress'd. 

And secret passions laboui'd in her breast 
Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive. 

Not scornful virgins who their charms survive. 

Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their bliss. 

Not ancient ladies when refus'd a kiss. 

Not tyrants fierce that unrepentmg die. 

Not Cvnthia when her manteau's pmn'd awry. 

E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair. 

As thou, sad Virgin ? for thy ravish'd Hair. 

For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew. 
And Ariel w^eeping from Belinda flew, 

Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite. 

As ever sully 'd the fair face of light, 

Down to the central earth, his proper scene. 

Repair'd to search the gloomy Cave of Spleen 
Swift on his sooty pmions flits the Gnome, 

And m a vapour reach'd the dismal dome 
No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows. 

The dreaded East is all the wind that blows 
Here m a grotto, shelter'd close from air. 

And screen'd m shades from day's detested glare. 

She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, 

Pam at her side, and Megrim at her head 

Xwo handmaids wait the throne* alike m place. 
But diff'rxng far m figure and in face 
Here stood Illr-nature like an ancient maid. 

Her wrinkled form m black and white array'd ^ 

With store of pray'rs, for mornings, nights, and noons 
Her hand is fill'd , her bosom with lampKions 
There Affectation, with a sickly mien. 

Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen, 

S3 



porMs or AJLEXANJorii popr 


Practis'd to lisp^ and hang the head aside. 

Faints into airs, and languishes with pude. 

On the iich quilt sinks with becoming woe, 

Wiapt m a gown, for sickness, and for show 
The fair-ones feel such maladies as these. 

When each new night-dress gives a new^ disease. 

A constant Vapour o'er the palace flies. 

Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise , 

Dreadful, as hermits dreams in haunted shades. 

Or bright, as visions of expiring maids 
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires. 
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires 
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes. 

And ciystal domes, and Angels in machines 
Unnumber'd throngs, on ev'ry side are seen. 

Of bodies chang'd to various forms by Spleen 
Here living Xea-pots stand, one arm held out. 

One bent, the handle this, and that the spout 
A pipkm there, like Homer's Xripod walks. 

Here sighs a Jar, and there a Goose-pye talks , 

Men prove with child, as powerful fancy works, 

And maids turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks 

Safe past the Gnome through this fantastic band, 

A branch of healing Spleenwort m his hand 
Xhen thus address'd thepow'r — '"Hail, wayward Queen * 
Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen 
Parent of vapours and of female wit» 

Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit. 

On various tempers act by various ways. 

Make some take physic, others scribble plays , 

W^ho cause the proud their visits to delay. 

And send the godly in a pet to pray, 

A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains. 

And thousands more in equal mirth maintains 

56 



IHL R\PD OI I nr lOCK 


But oh* if e^'ei thy Gnome could spoil a grace. 

Or laise a pimple on a beauteous lace. 

Like Citi on-w aters matrons cheeks intiame. 

Or change complexions at a losing game , 

If e^'er with airy horns I planted heads. 

Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds. 

Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was lude. 

Or discompos'd the head-dress of a Prude, 

Or e'er to costive lap dog gave disease. 

Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease 
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin, 

Xhat single act gives half the world the spleen ' 

The Goddess with a discontented air 
Seems to reject him, tho' she grants his pray'r 
A wond'rous Bag with both her hands she binds. 
Like that where once Ulysses held the winds. 

There she collects the force of female lungs. 

Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues 
A Vial next she fills with famtmg fears. 

Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears 
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away. 

Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day. 

Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found. 

Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound 
Full o'er their heads the swellmg bag he rent. 

And all the Furies issu'd at the vent 
Belmda burns with more than mortal ire. 

And fierce Thalestris fans the rismg fire. 

'O wretched maid*' she spread her hands, and cry'd, 
(While Hampton's echoes 'Wretdied maid*' repl;f'd) 
*Was It for this you took such constant care 
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare ^ 

For this your locks in paper durance bound ^ 

For this with tort'rmg irons wreath'd around ? 

57 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


For this with fillets stramM your tendci head?* 

And bravely bore the double loads of lead ^ 

Gods ^ shall the ra\ isher display youi hair, 

"While the Fops envy, and the Ladies stare?* 

Honour foi bid* at whose umival'd shtine 
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign, 

Methmks ah eady I your tears sur\ ey , 

Already hear the horrid things they say. 

Already see you a degraded toast. 

And all your honour in a whisper lost* 

How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend 
^Twill then be infamy to seem your fiiend* 

And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize. 

Expos'd through crystal to the gazing eyes. 

And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays. 

On that rapacious hand for ever blaze 
Sooner shall grass in Hyde-park Circus grow. 

And wits take lodgings m the sound of Bow , 

Sooner let earth, air, sea, to Chaos fall. 

Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all*' 

She said, then ragmg to Sir Plume repairs. 

And bids her Beau demand the precious hairs 
(Sir Plume of amber snuff-box justly vam. 

And the nice conduct of a clouded cane ) 

With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face. 

He first the snuff-box open'd, then the case. 

And thus broke out — ’'My Lord, why, what the devil! 
Z — ds * damn the Lock* 'fore Gad, you must be civil! 
Plague on 't* 'tis past a jest — nay, prithee, pox* 
Give her the ha»' — he spoke, and rapp'd his box 
'It grieves me much' (reply'd the Peer again) 
'Who speaks so well should ever speak m vam 
But by this Lock, this sacred Lock I swear, 

(W'hich never more shall join its parted hair, 

58 



ini H\PI- Ui IHL lOCK 


Which never more its honouis shall icnew, 

Chp'd ironi the lovely head where late il giew ) 

Xliat while my nostrils draw the vital au , 

Xhis liand, which won it, shall foi e\ci wcm * 

He spoke^ and speaking, m pi cud ti iinnph sp* ead 
Xhe long-eontended honoui s of her head 

But Unibiiel, hatelul Gnome ^ forbears not so. 

He breaks the Vial whence the sorrows flow 
Xhen see^ the manph m beauteous gi lef appears. 

Her 03 es half-langtushmg, half-drov\n'd in teais. 

On her heav^'d bosom hung her drooping head, 
Winch, with a sigh, she rais'd, and thus she said 
'For ever curs'd be this detested day, 

W'hich snatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl away ^ 
Happ3*^^ ah ten times happy had I been. 

If Hampton-Court these eyes had never seen^ 

Yet am not I the first mistaken maid. 

By love of Courts to num'rous ills betray'd 
Oh had I rather un-admir'd remain^'d 
In some lone isle, or distant Northern land, 

Wheie the gilt Chariot nev'^er marks the way. 

Where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste Bohea^ 
Xhere kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye. 
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die 
W^hat mov'd my mind with youthful Lords to roam ? 
O had I stay'd, and said my pray'rs at home ^ 

'Xwas this, the morning omens seem'd to tell 
Xhrice from my trembling hand the patcli-box fell , 
Xhe tott'ring China shook without a wind. 

Nay Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind ^ 

A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate. 

In mystic visions, now believ'd too late ^ 

See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs ^ 

My hands shall rend what ev'n thy rapine sparess 

59 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


Xhese iii two sable ringlets taught to break. 
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck, 
Xhe sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone. 

And m its fellow's fate foresees its own, 

Uncui rd It hangs, the fatal sheers demands. 
And tempts, once more, thy sacrilegious hands 
Oh hadst thou, cruel ^ been content to seize 
Hairs less m sight, oi any hans but these 


CANTO V 

She said the pitymg audience melt in tears. 

But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's ears 
In vain Xhalestris with reproach assails. 

For who can move when fair Belinda fails ^ 

Not half so fix'd the Xrojan could remain. 

While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd m vain 
Xhen grave Clarissa graceful wav'd her fan , 

Silence ensu'd, and thus the nymph began 

'Say, why are Beauties prais'd and honour'd most, 
Xhe wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast ^ 
W’hy deck'd with all that land and sea afford 
Why Angels call'd, and Angel-like adored ? 

Why round our coaches crowd the white-glov'd Beaus 
Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows ^ 

How vain are all these glories, all our pains. 

Unless good sense preserve what beauty gams 
Xhat men may say, when we the front-box grace. 
Behold the first m virtue as m face* 

Oh * if to dance all night, and dress all day. 

Charm'd the small-pox, or chas'd old-age away. 
Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce. 
Or who would learn one earthly thmg of use ^ 



'IHL K\Pi <>l THE LOCK 


T.O patch, naj o^le, I2iig;ht become a Saeit, 

Nor could It sure be &uch a sin to paint. 

But since, alas^ liail beauty must decaj, 

CurFd or uiicuiFd, ijince Locks will turn to grey. 
Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade. 

And she who scorns a man, must die a maid, 

\\ hat then remains, but well our pow'r to use, 

And keep good-humour still, whatever we lose ^ 

And tiust me, dear^ good-humour can prev^ail. 

When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail 
Beauties m \ am then pretty eyes may roll , 

Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul ' 

So spoke the Dame, but no applause ensu'd , 
Belinda frown'd, Xhalestris call'd her Pi ude 
‘‘Xo arms, to arms^' the fierce Virago cries. 

And swift as lightning to the combat flies 
All side m parties, and begin th' attack , 

Fans clap, silks russle, and tough whalebones crack. 
Heroes' and Heroines' shouts confus'dly rise. 

And base and treble voices strike the skies 
No common w^eapons in their hands are found, 

Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound 
So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage. 

And heav'nly breasts with human passions rage, 
'Gamst Pallas, Mars, Latona, Hermes arms. 

And all Olympus rings with loud alarms 
Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around. 

Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps re- 
sound 

Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives 
way. 

And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day ^ 
Xriumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height 
Clap'd his glad wings, and sat to view the fight 

61 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Prop^d on their bodkin spears, the Sprites sur\ey 
The growing combat, or assist the fray 

While through the press enrag'd Xhalestris flies. 
And scatters death around from both her eyes, 

A Beau and Witling perish'd in the throng. 

One dy'd m metaphor, and one in song 
*0 cruel nymph * a living death I bear/ 

Cry'd Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair 
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, 
'Those eyes are made so killing' — was his last 
Thus on Maeander's flow'ry margin lies 
Th' expiring Swan, and as he sings he dies 

W^hen bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, 
Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown , 

She smil'd to see the doughty hero slam. 

But, at her smile, the Beau reviv'd again 

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air. 
Weighs the Men's wits agamst the Lady's hair. 
The doubtful beam long nods from side to side; 

At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside 
See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies, 

"With more than usual lightning m her eyes 
Nor fear'd the chief th' unequal fight to try, 

"Who sought no more than on his foe to die 
But this^ bold Lord, with manly strength endu'd. 
She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd 
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, 

A charge of snufF the wily virgin threw , 

The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom just. 

The pungent grains of titillatmg dust 
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows. 

And the high dome re-echoes to his nose 

*Now meet thy fate^' incens'd Belinda cry'd, 

And drew a deadly bodkm Jfrom her side, 

60 



rni^ RAPE OF THE LOCK 


(Xhe bame, his ancient personage to dot k. 

Her great great giandsire wore about ins neck^ 

In three i>eal-rmgs, w’-hich after, melted down. 
Form'd a vabt buckle for his widow s gown 
Her iniant grandame's whistle next it grew, 

Xhe bells she pngled, and the whistle blew , 

Xhen m a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, 

W^hich long she woie, and now Belinda wears ) 
"Boast not my tall,* (he cry'd) "insulting foe ^ 
Xhou by some other shalt be laid as low 
Noi think, to die dejects my lofty mind. 

All that I diead is leaving you behind^ 

Rather than so, ah let me still suivive. 

And burn in Cupid's flames — but burn alive ' 
"Restore the Lock^' she cries, and all aiound 
‘Restore the Lock^' the vaulted roofs icbound 
Not fierce Othello m so loud a strain 
Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain 
But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd. 

And chiefs contend 'till all the prize is lost^ 
llie Lock, obtam'd with guilt, and kept with pam. 
In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain 
With such a prize no mortal must be blest. 

So Heav'n decrees ^ with Heav'n who can contest ^ 
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere. 
Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd there 
Xhere Heroes' wits are kept in pond'rous vases. 
And Beaux' in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases 
Xhere broken vows, and death-bed alms are found. 
And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound, 
Xhe courtier's promises, and sick man's pray'rs, 
Xhe smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs. 

Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea, 

I>ry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry 

es 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


But trust the Muse — she saw it upw ard rise, 

Tho^ mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes 

(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew. 

To Proculus alone confess'd in \iew) 

A sudden Star, it shot through liquid air. 

And drew behind a radiant trail of hair 
Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright. 

The heav'ns bespangling with dishevel'd light 
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies. 

And pleas'd pursue its progress through the skies 
This the Beau monde shall from the Mall survey. 
And hail with music its propitious ray, 

This the bless'd Lover shall for Venus take, 

And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake,^ 

This Partridge^ soon shall view in cloudless skies. 
When next he looks through Galileo's eyes , 

And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom 
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome 

Then cease, bright Nymph * to mourn thy ravish'd 
hair. 

Which adds new glory to the shming sphere * 

Not all the tresses that fair head can boast. 

Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost 
For, after all the murders of your eye, 

When, after millions slam, yourself shall die , 

When those fair suns shall set, as set they must. 

And all those tresses shall be laid m dust. 

This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame. 

And 'midst the stars inscribe Belmda's name 

1 A pond once in St James’^s Park 

2 John Partridge was a ridiculous star-gazer, who in his Almanacks 
every year, never fail'd to predict the downfall of the Pope, and the 
King of France, then at war with the English P 

S4 



FRO *I 


THE TEMPLE OF FAME 

While thus I stood, intent to see and hcai. 

One came, me thought, and whisper'd in iny ear 
‘What could thus high thy rash ambition laise^ 
x\it thou, iond youth, a candidate for piaise?’ 

‘ ’Tis true,' said I, ‘not \oid of hopes I came, 

Foi who so fond as youthful baids of Fame? 

But few, alas* the casual blessing boast. 

So hard to gam, so easy to be lost 

How \am that second life in others breath, 

Th’ estate which wits inherit after death* 

Ease, health, and life, foi this they must resign, 

( Unsui e the tenure, but how vast the fine ' ) 

The great man’s curse, without the gams, endure. 
Be envied, wretched, and be flatter’d, poor. 

All lucldess wits their enemies profest. 

And all successful, jealous friends at best 
Nor Fame I slight, nor for her favours call. 

She comes unlook’d for, if she comes at all 
But if the purchase costs so dear a price. 

As soothing Folly, or exalting Vice 

Oh * if the Muse must flatter lawless sway. 

And follow still where fortune leads the way. 

Or if no basis bear my rising name. 

But the fall’n rums of another’s fame, 

'Then teach me, heav’n* to scorn the guilty bays. 
Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise , 
Unblemish’d let me live, or die unknown. 

Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none*' 


65 



ELOISA TO ABELARD 

Abelard and Eloisa flourished in the twelfth century, they were two of 
the most distinguished persons of their age in learning and beauty, but 
for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate passion After a 
long course of calamities, they retired each to a several Convent, and 
consecrated the remainder of their days to religion It was many years 
after this separation, that a letter of Abcltrd's to a Friend, which con- 
tained the history of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloisa 
This awakening all her tenderness, occasioned those celebrated letters 
(out of which the following is partly extracted) which give so lively 
a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and passion P 

In these deep solitudes and awful cells. 

Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells, 

Axid ever-musing melancholy reigns. 

What means this tumult in a VestaTs veins 
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat ^ 
Why feels my heart its long~forgotten heat ^ 

Yet, yet I love^ — From Abelard it came. 

And Eloisa yet must kiss the name 

Dear fatal name * rest ever unreveaFd, 

Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd 
Hide It, my heart, within that close disguise. 

Where, mix'd with God's, his lov'd Idea lies 
Oh write it not, my hand — the name appears 
Already written wash it out, my tears * 

In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays. 

Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys 

Relentless walls * whose darksome round contains 
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pams 
Ye rugged rocks, which holy knees have worn. 

Ye grots and caverns, shagg'd with horrid thorn ^ 
Shrines ^ whei e their vigils pale^ey'd virgins keep. 
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep^ 
Tho' cold like you, unmov'd and silent grown, 

I have not yet forgot myself to stone 

66 



rrOfSA TO ABI L,AKD 


All IS not Hea\"n's while Abelaid has part. 

Still icbel nature liolcls out hall my htait. 

Nor praj 'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse i estrain. 

Nor tears fur ages taught to flow in vam 
Soon as thy letteis trembling I unclose. 

That name awakens all my woes 

Oh name foi e\er sad^ foi ever deai ^ 

Still bi eatliM m sighs, still usher'd witli a tear 
I trenibie too, w hei e'er my own I find. 

Some due misfortune follows close behind 
Line after line my gushing eyes overflow. 

Led tin ough a sad variety of woe . 

Now warm m love, now withering in my bloom. 
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom ^ 

There stern Kcligion quench'd th' unwilling flame. 
There dy'd the best of passions. Love and Fame* 
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join 
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thme* 

Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away. 

And is my Abelard less kmd than they ? 

Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare. 
Love but demands what else were shed m pray'r. 

No happier task these faded eyes pursue , 

To read and weep is all they now can do 
Then share thy pam, allow that sad relief. 

Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief 
Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid. 
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid , 

They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, 
*Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires. 

The virgin's wish without her fears impai t. 

Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart. 

Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul. 

And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole* 

6?7 



POCMS or AI.EXANDER POPE 


Thou kaow'st how guiltless first I met thy 
flame. 

When Love approach^ me under Friendship's name. 
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind. 

Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind 
Those smiling eyes, attemp'rmg ev'ry ray. 

Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day 
Guiltless I gaz'd. Heaven listen'd while j^ou sung. 
And truths^ divine came mended from that tongue 
From lips like those, what precept fail'd to move ^ 
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sm to love 
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran. 

Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man 
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see , 

Nor envy them that heav'n I lose for thee 

How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said. 
Curse on all laws but those which love has made ^ 
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties. 

Spreads his light wings, and m a moment flies 
Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame, 
August her deed, and sacred be her fame , 

Before true passion all those views remove , 

Fame, wealth, and honour ? what are you to Love ^ 
The jealous God, when we profane his fires, 

Those restless passions m revenge inspires. 

And bids them make mistaken mortals groan. 

Who seek in love for aught but love alone 
Should at my feet the world's great master fall. 
Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all 
Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove, 

No, make me mistress to the man I love. 

If there be yet another name more free. 

More fond than mistress, make me that \o thee ^ 

1 He was her Preceptor in Philosophy and Divinity JP 

68 



EI-OISA TO ABBL^RD 


Oh^ happ3r stated when souls each otlier diaw^ 

When lo\e is liberty, and nature, law 
All then is full, possessing and possessed. 

No cra\mg void left aking in the breast 
Ev'n thought meets thought, eie from the lips it pai t. 
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart 
Tins sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be) 

And once the lot of Abelard and me 

Alas how chang’d ^ w^hat sudden honors rise^ 

A naked Lover bound and bleeding lies ^ 

Where, \\ here \\ as Eloise ^ her voice, her hand ^ 

Hei poniard, had oppos’d the dire command 
Barbarian, stay^ that bloody stroke restrain, 

Xhe crime was common, common be the pain 
I can no more, by shame, by rage suppress’d. 

Let teal s, and burning blushes speak the rest 
Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day. 

When victims at yon altar’s foot we lay ^ 

Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell. 
When, w arm in youth, I bade the world farewell ^ 

As with cold lips I kiss’d the sacred veil, 

Xhe shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale: 
Heav’n scarce believed the Conquest it survey’d. 

And Saints with wonder heard the vows I made 
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew% 

Not on the Cross my eyes were fix’d, but you 
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call. 

And if I lose thy love, I lose my all 

Come ^ with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe , 

Xhose still at least are left thee to bestow 

Still on that breast enamour’d let me lie. 

Still drink delicious poison from thy eye. 

Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press^’d , 

Give all thou canst — and let me dream the rest 


69 



POEMS OF AEEXANJDER POPE 

Ah, no ^ instruct me other joys to prize. 

With other beauties charm my partial eyes. 

Full m my view set all the bright abode. 

And make my soul quit Abelard for God 

Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care. 
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pi ay"r 
From the false woild m early youth they fled. 

By thee to mountains, wilds, and desei ts led 
You^ rais^'d these hallowM walls, the desert smiFd, 
And Paradise was open'd m the Wild 
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores 
Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze tlie floors , 

No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n. 

Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited Pleav'n 
But such plain roofs as Piety could raise. 

And only vocal with tlie Maker's praise 
In these lone walls (their days eternal bound) 
These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets 
crown'd, 

Wliere awful arches make a noon-day night. 

And the dim windows shed a solemn light. 

Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray. 

And gleams of glory brighten'd all tlie day 
But now no face divme contentment wears, 

'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears 
See how the force of others pi ay 'rs I try, 

( O pious fraud of am'rous charity ^ ) 

But why should I on others pray'rs depend ^ 

Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend! 
Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move. 

And all those tender names m one, thy love ^ 

The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd, 
'Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wmd, 

1. He founded the Monastery P 
70 



EI-OISA TO ABELARD 


Xhe wanclVing streams that shine between tlie hills, 
T he grots that echo to the tinkling rills, 

Xhe dying gales tliat pant upon the tiees, 

Xhe lakes that quiver to the curling breeze , 

No more these scenes my meditation aid. 

Or lull to rest the \isionary maid 

But o^er the tw ilight gro\ es and dusky caves, 

jLong-soundmg aisles, and intermingled graves. 

Black IVfelancholy sits, and round her throws 

A death-like silence, and a dread repose 

Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene. 

Shades ev'^ry flovv^'r, and darkens evhy green. 
Deepens the muimur of the falling floods. 

And bieathes a browner horror on tlie woods* 

Yet here for ever, ever must I stay. 

Sad prod how well a lover can obey ^ 

Death, only death, can break tlie lasting chain , 

And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain. 
Here all its frailties, all its flames resign. 

And wait till ^tis no sm to mix with thine 

Ah wretch ^ believ'^d the spouse of God in vain. 
Confess'd within the slave of love and man 
Assist me, heav'n ^ but whence arose that pray'r ^ 
Sprung It from piety, or fi om despair ^ 

Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires. 

Love finds an altar for forbidden fires 
I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought, 

I mourn the lover, not lament the fault, 

I view my crime, but kindle at the view. 

Repent old pleasures, and solicit new , 

Now turn'd to heav'n, I weep my past offence. 

Now think of thee, and curse my innocence 
Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 

'Xis sure the hardest science to forget ^ 

71 



POCMS or ALnXANDBR POPE 


How shall I lose the sm, yet keep the sense, 

And love th* offender, yet detest th"' offence ^ 

How the dear object from the crime remove. 

Or how distinguish penitence from love ^ 

Unequal task^ a passion to resign. 

For hearts so touchM, so pierced, so lost as mine 
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state. 

How often must it love, how often hate ^ 

How often hope, despair, resent, regret. 

Conceal, disdain, -- do all things but forget 
But let heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis firm'd , 

Not touch'd, but rapt, not waken'd, but inspir'd^ 

Oh come ^ oh teach me nature to subdue. 

Renounce my love, my life, myself — and you 
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he 
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee. 

How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot ? 

Xhe world forgettmg, by the world foigot 
Eternal sunshme of the spotless mind^ 

Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd, 
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep , 

'Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep,' 
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n. 

Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heav'n. 
Grace shmes around her with serenest beams. 

And whispering Angels prompt her golden dreams. 
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms. 

And wmgs of Seraphs shed divine perfumes , 

For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring. 

For her white virgms Hymenaeals sing. 

To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away. 

And melts in visions of eternal day 

Far other dreams my erring soul employ. 

Far other raptures, of unholy joy 



L JL O I S A ”1 O x\ B n 1 A H D 


When at the close of each sad, soi ro%\ iiig daj% 
h*xnLy restoies what \engeance snatch'd away. 

Then conscience sleeps, and lea\ mg nalui e tree. 

All iny loose soul unbounded springs to thee 
Oh cuist, dear hoirois oi all-conscious night ^ 

How glowing gnilt exalts the keen delight^ 
Provoking Demons all restraint remove. 

And stn withm me evhy source of love 
I hear thee, vaew thee, gaze o'er all thy charms. 
And round thy^ phantom glue my clasping arms 
I wake —no more I hear, no more I view. 

The phantom flies me, as unkind as you 
I call aloud , it hears not what I say 
I sti etch my empty arms , it glides aw^ay 
To dream once more I close my willing eyes, 

Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise, 

Alas, no more ^ methinks w^e wandering go 
Through dreary w^astes, and weep each other's woe, 
Whei e round some mould'rmg tow'r pale ivy creeps. 
And low -brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps 
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies. 
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise 
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find. 

And wake to all the griefs I left behmd 
For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain 
A cool suspense from pleasure and from pam , 

Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose , 

No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows 
Still as the sea, ere wmds were taught to blow. 

Or moving spirit bade the waters flow. 

Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n. 

And mild as op'nmg gleams of promis'd heav'n 
Come, Abelard ^ for what hast thou to dread ? 

The torch of Venus bums not for the dead 

73 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Natui e stands checked , Religion disappi oves , 

Ev^'n thou art cold — yet Eloisa lo\ es 
Ah hopeless, lasting flames, like those that burn 
To light the dead, and warm th' unii uitful urn 

What scenes appear where'er I turn my view ^ 

The dear Ideas, wheie I fly, pursue. 

Rise in the grove, before the altar i ise. 

Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes 
I waste the Matin lamp in sighs foi thee. 

Thy image steals between my God and me. 

Thy voice I seem m ev'ry hymn to hear, 

W'lth ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear 
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll, 

And swelling organs lift the rising soul. 

One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight. 
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight 
In seas of flame my plungmg soul is drown'd. 

While Altars blaze, and Angels tremble round. 

While prostrate here m humble grief I he, 

Kmd, virtuous drops just gath'ring m my eye, 

W^hile praymg, tremblmg, m the dust I roll. 

And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul 
Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art! 
Oppose thyself to heav'n, dispute my heart, 

Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes 
Blot out each bright Idea of the skies , 

Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears; 
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs, 

Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode. 
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God ? 

No, fly me, fly me, far as Pole from Pole, 

Rise Alps between us ! and whole oceans roll ! 

Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me. 

Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee 

74 



I LOIS A TO ABELARD 


Thy oaths I cjuit, thy memoiy resign. 

Forget, renounce me, hate whatever was mine 
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view^) 
Long lovM, ador'd ideas, all adieu ^ 

O Grace serene ^ O virtue heavhily fair^ 

Di\ine obliMon of low-thoughted care^ 
Ficsh-blooniiag Hope, gay daughter of the sky^ 
And Faith, our early immortality? 

Enter, each mild, each amicable guest. 

Receive, and wrap me, in eternal rest* 

See in her cell sad Eloisa spread, 

Propt on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead 
In each low wind methmks a Spirit calls. 

And moi e than Echoes talk along the walls 
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around. 

From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound 
*Come, sister, come*' (it said, or seem'd to say) 
'Xhy place is here, sad sister, come away * 

Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd. 
Love's victim then, tho' now a sainted maid 
But all IS calm m this eternal sleep. 

Here gi lef forgets to gi can, and love to weep, 

Ev'n superstition loses every fear 

For God, not man, absolves our frailties here ' 

I come, I come * prepare your roseate bow'rs. 
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming fiow'rs 
Xlnther, where sinners may have rest, I go. 

Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow 
Xhou, Abelard * the last sad office pay. 

And smooth my passage to the realms of day 
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll. 

Suck my last breath and catch my flying soul* 

Ah no — in sacred vestments may'st thou stand. 
The hallow'd taper trembling m thy hand, 

75 D 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Present the Cross befoi e my lifted eye^ 

Teach rae at once, and learn of me to die 
Ah then, thy once-lov*d Eloisa see * 

It will be then no crime to gaze on me 
See from my cheek the transient roses fly ^ 

See the last sparkle languish in my eye ^ 

"Till every motion, pulse, and breath be o’er. 

And ev’n my Abelard be lov"d no more 
O Death all-eloquent ? you only pro\ e 
What dust we doat on, when 'tis man we love 
Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy, 
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy) 

In trance extatic may thy pangs be drown’d. 

Bright clouds descend, and Angels watch thee 
round. 

From opening skies may streaming glories shine. 

And Samts embrace thee with a love like mine 
May one kind grave^ unite each hapless name. 

And graft my love immortal on thy fame * 

Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o’er. 

When this rebellious heart shall beat no more , 

If ever chance two wand’rmg lovers brings 
To Paraclete’s white walls and silver springs. 

O’er the pale marble shall they join their heads. 

And drink the falling tea^s each other sheds , 

Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov’d, 

'Oh, may we never love as these have lov’d*' 

From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise. 

And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice. 

Amid that scene if some relentmg eye 
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie, 

1 • Abelard and Eloisa were mterr’d in the same grave, or m monu- 
ments a<^oining, in the Monastery of the Paraclete' He died in the 
year 1 she in 1 ISa. P, 


76 



BI-OISA XO ABEBARO 


I>e\otion^s self shall steal a thought from heaven. 
One human tear shall drop, and be forgiv'n 
And sure if fate some future bard shall join 
In sad suiiilitude of griefs to mine. 

Condemn'd whole years m absence to deplore. 

And image charms he must behold no more. 

Such if there be, who loves so long, so well. 

Let him our sad, our tender story tell , 

The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost. 
He best can pamt 'em who shall feel 'em most 


77 



ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN 
UNFORTUNATE LADY 


What beck’mng ghost, along the moon-light shade 
Invites my steps, and pomts to yonder glade ? 

'Tis she • — but why that bleeding bosom gor’d. 

Why dimly gleams the visionary sword ? 

Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly > tell. 

Is It, in heav’n, a crime to love too well ? 

To bear too tender, or too firm a heart. 

To act a Lover’s or a Roman’s part ? 

Is there no bright reversion in the sky. 

For those who greatly think, or bravely die ? 

Why bade ye else, ye Pow’rs ' her soul aspire 
Above the vulgar flight of low desire ? 

Ambition flrst sprung from your blest abodes , 

The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods 
Thence to their images on earth it flows. 

And in the breasts of Kings and Heroes glows 
Most souls, ’tis true, but peep out once an age. 
Dull, sullen pris’ners in the body’s cage 
Dim lights of life, that bum a length of years 
Useless, unseen, as lamps m sepulchres. 

Like Eastern Kings a lazy state they keep. 

And, close confin’d to their own palace, sleep 
From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die) 
Fate snatch’d her early to tihe pity mg sky 
As into air the purer spirits flow. 

And sep’rate from their kmdred dregs below , 

So flew the soul to its congenial place. 

Nor left one virtue to redeem her Race 

But thou, false guardian of a charge too good. 
Thou, mean deserter of thy brother’s blood i 

78 



ri-KG Y 


See on these ruby lips the trembling breatli, 

These cheeks no\^ fading at the blast of death. 

Cold IS that bieast which warm’^d the world before. 
And those love-darting eyes must roll no more 
Thus, if Eternal justice rules the ball. 

Thus shall your wi\es, and thus your children fall 
On all the line a sudden "vengeance waits. 

And irequent herses shall besiege your gates , 

There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, 
(While the long funTals blacken all the way) 

these were they, whose souls the Fuiies steeFd, 
And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield ' 
Thus unlamented pass the proud away. 

The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day ^ 

So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow 
For otheis good, or melt at others woe 
What can atone (Oh ever-injur'd shaded) 

Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid ^ 

No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear 
Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier 
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd. 

By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed. 

By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd. 

By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd ^ 
What tlio' no friends m sable weeds appear. 

Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year. 
And bear about the mockery of woe 
To midnight dances, and the public show ^ 

What the' no weepmg Loves thy ashes grace. 

Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face ^ 

What the' no sacred earth allow thee room. 

Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb ^ 

Yet shall thy grave with rismg flow'rs be drest. 
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast 

79 



POEMS OF AEEXAMDER POPE 


There shall the mom her earliest teai s bestow. 
There the first roses of the year shall blow, 
"While Angels with their silver wings o'ershade 
The ground, now sacred by thy rehques made 
So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name. 
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame* 
How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not. 
To whom related, or by whom begot, 

A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 

'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be^ 

Poets themselves must fall like those they sung. 
Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue, 
Ev'n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays. 
Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays , 
Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part. 
And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart. 
Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er. 

The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no morel 


SO 



EPISTLE TO MRS BLOUNT^ 


WIIH THE WORKS OF VOITUUK* 

I N tliese gay thoughts the Lo\'es and Graces shine. 
And all the Writer lives in evTy line. 

His easy Art may happy Natuie seem, 

Infles themselves are elegant in him 
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate. 

Who without flatt’ry pleased the fair and great. 

Still with esteem no less convers'd than read. 

With wit w ell-natur'd, and with books well-bred 
His heart, his mistress, and his friend did share. 

His time, the Muse, the witty, and the fair. 

Thus wisely careless, innocently gay, 

Cheaiful he play’d the trifle. Life, away. 

Till fate scarce felt his gentle breath supplest. 

As smiling Infants sport themselves to rest 
Ev’n rival W'lts did Voiture’s death deplore, 

And the gay mourn’d who never mourn’d before , 
The truest hearts for Voiture heav’d with sighs, 
Voiture was wept by all the brightest Eyes 
The Smiles and Loves had dy’d m Voiture’s death. 
But that for ever in his Imes they breathe 
Let the strict life of graver mortals be 
A long, exact, and serious Comedy, 

In ev'ry scene some Moral let it teach. 

And, if it can, at once both please and preach. 

Let mine an innocent gay Farce appear. 

And more divertmg still than regular, 

1 This poem was addressed to Martha Blount ( 1690-1762), a life- 
long and intimate friend of Pope's He also addressed verse* to her 
sister, Teresa 

2. Vincent Voiture ( 1698— 1648) , a French wit and letter writer. 

81 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 

Have Humour, Wit, a native Ease and Grace^ 

Tho' not too strictly bound to Time and Place 
Critics m Wit, or Life, are hard to please. 

Few write to those, and none can live to these 
Too much your Sex is by their forms confinM, 
Seveie to all, but most to Womankmd, 

Custom, grown blind with Age, must be your guide , 
Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride. 

By Nature yielding, stubborn but for fame, 

Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by shame 
Marriage may all those petty Tyrants chase. 

But sets up one, a greater m their place 
Well might you wish for change by those accurst. 
But the last Tyrant ever proves the worst 
Still in constraint your sufFYing Sex remams. 

Or bound m formal, or m real chains 
Whole years neglected, for some months ador’d. 
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord 
Ah quit not the free innocence of life. 

For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife, 

Nor let false Shews, or empty Titles please 
Aim not at Joy, but rest content with Ease 
The Gods, to curse Pamela with her pray'rs. 

Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares, 
The shmmg robes, rich jewels, beds of state. 

And, to complete her bliss, a Fool for Mate 
She glares m Balls, front Boxes, and the Ring, 

A vain, unquiet, glitt’rmg, wretched Thing ^ 

Pride, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part 
She sighs, and is no Duchess at her heart 

But, Madam, if the Fates withstand, and you 
Are destm’d Hymen’s willmg Victim too 
Trust not too much your now resistless charms. 
Those, Age or Sickness, soon or late, disarms 



rPISTJLD TO MRS BLOUNT 


Good-humour only teaches charms to last 

Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past, 

Lx>ve, rais’d on Beauty, ill like that decay. 

Our hearts may bear its slender chain a day , 

As flow’ry bands m wantonness are worn, 

A morning’s pleasure, and at evening torn, 

Xliis bmds m ties more easy, yet more strong. 

The Willing heart, and only holds it long 

Thus Voiture’s early care still shone the same. 

And Alonthausier^ was only chang’d in name 
By this, ev’n now they live, ev’n now they charm, 
Their Wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm 
Now crown’d with M3nrtle, on th’ Elysian coast. 
Amid those Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost 
Pleas’d, while with smiles his happy lines you view. 
And finds a fairer Rambouillet^ m you 
The brightest eyes of France mspir’d his Muse, 

The brightest eyes of Britam now peruse , 

And dead, as living, ’tis our Author’s pride 
Still to charm those who charm the world beside 

1 Madame de Monthausier was the name under which Voiture cele- 
brated Mile de Rambouillet 


83 



EPISTLE TO MRS TERESA BLOUNT^ 


ON HER LEAVING THE TOWN AFTER 
THE CORONATION^ 

As some fond Virgin, whom her mother's care 
Drags from the Town to wholesome Country air. 
Just when she learns to roll a melting eye. 

And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh , 

From the dear man unwillmg she must sever, 

Y et takes one kiss before she parts for ever 
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew. 

Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew. 

Not that their pleasures caus^'d her discontent. 

She sigh'd not that they stay'd, but that she went 
She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks, 
Old-fashion'd halls, dull Aunts, and croaking rooks: 
She went from Op'ra, Park, Assembly, Play, 

To morning-walks, and pray'rs three hours a-day; 
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea. 

To muse, and spill her solitary tea. 

Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon, 

Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon 
Divert her eyes with pictures m the fire. 

Hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire. 

Up to her godly garret after sev'n, 

There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n* 
Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack; 
Whose game is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack; 
Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds. 

Then gives a smacking buss, and cries, — No words I 
Or with his hound comes halloomg from the stable. 
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table ; 

1 Seep 81, n 1 9 , Of King George I 1715 P 

84 * 



TO MRS TEHBSA BLOLNF 

Whose laughs aie hearty, tho* his jests are coarse,. 
And loves 3 ou best oi all things - but liis liorse 
In some fair 'nmg, on yarn elbow laid. 

You dreaiTi of Triumphs m the rmal shade. 

In pensive thought recall the fanc^’^'d scene. 

See Coronations rise on ev^'ry green, 

Before you pass th' imaginary sights 
Oi I^rcls, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter^'d Knights,. 
While the spread fan o'ershades youi closing eyes^ 
Then giv^e one flirt, and all the vision flies 
Thus vanish sceptres, coionets, and balls. 

And leave 3^011 in lone woods, or empty walls ^ 

So when your Slave, at some dear idle tune, 

(Not plagued with head-achs, or the want of rhyme) 
Stands in the streets, abstracted from the ciew. 

And while he seems to study, thinks of 3^ou, 

Just when his fancy paints your sprightly eyes. 

Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise, 

Gay^ pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite. 

Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rush upon my sight. 
Vex'd to be still in towm, I knit my brow. 

Look sour, and hum a Tune, as you do now 


1. John Oay ( 1085—17SS) , poet and a friend of Pape’s* 

85 



EPISTLE TO MR JERVAS^ 


WITH MR DRYDEN’s TRANSLATION OF FRESNOY’s 
‘art of PAINTING’2 

This Verse be thine, my friend, nor thou refuse 
This, from no venal or ungrateful Muse 
Whether thy hand strike out some free design, 

Where Life awakes, and dawns at evTy line. 

Or blend m beauteous tints the colour'd mass. 

And from the canvas call the mimic face 
Read these instructive leaves, in which conspire 
Fresnoy's close Art, and Dryden's native Fire 
And reading wish, like theirs, our fate and fame. 

So mixM our studies, and so join'd our name. 

Like them to shine through long succeeding age. 

So just thy skill, so regular my rage 

Smit with the love of Sister-Arts we came, 

And met congenial, mmgling flame with flame, 

Like friendly colours found them both unite, 

And each from each contract new strength and light 
How oft' m pleasmg tasks we wear the day. 

While summer-suns roll unperceiv'd away ? 

How oft our slowly-growmg works impart, 

While Images reflect from art to art ^ 

How oft review , each findmg like a friend 
Something to blame, and something to commend ^ 
What flatt'rmg scenes our wand'ring fancy wrought, 
Rome's pompous glories rismg to our thought * 
Together o'er the Alps methmks we fly. 

Fir'd with Ideas of fair Italy 

1 Charles Jervas (1675-1739), a fashionable portrait painter who 
taught painting to Pope 

S John Dryden translated Charles Fresnoy*s ( l6l3-65) I>atin poem. 
The Art of Painting 


86 



EPISTLE TO MR JFHVAS 


With thee, on Raphael's Monument I mourn. 

Or wait inspiring Dreams at Maro's Uin 
With thee repose, where Tully once was laid. 

Or seek some Ruin's iormidabie shade 
While Fanc;^ brings the vanish'd piles to vaew. 
And builds imagmaiy Rome a-new. 

Here thy w ell-study 'd marbles fix our eye, 

A fading Fresco here demands a sigh 
Each hcav'nly piece unwearied we compare. 

Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's aii, 
Carracci's strength, Correggio's softer line, 
Paulo's free stroke, and Titian's warmth divine 
How finish'd with illustrious toil appears 
This small, well-polish'd Gem, the work of years 
Yet still how faint by precept is exprest 
The liv mg image in the painter's breast ^ 

Thence endless sti earns of fan Ideas flow, 

Sti ike in the sketch, or m the picture glow , 
Thence Beauty, waking all her forms, supplies 
An Angel's sw eetness, or Bridgewater's eyes ^ 
iVIuse^ at that Name thy sacred sorrows shed. 
Those teai s eternal, that embalm the dead 
Call round her Tomb each object of desire. 

Each purer frame inform'd with purer fire 
Bid her be all that chears or softens life. 

The tender sister, daughter, friend, and wife 
Bid her be all that makes mankind adore, 

Then view this Marble, and be vain no more ^ 

Yet still her charms in breathing pamt engage. 
Her modest cheek shall warm a future age 


1 Fresnoy employed above twenty years in finishing this poem P 
S Elizabeth, Countess of Bridgewater, the third daughter of the Duke 
of Marlborough, who died in 1714* of the small-pox, aged 97 

87 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Beauty, frail fiow'r that ev"ry season fears. 

Blooms m thy colours for a thousand years 
Thus ChurchilFs race shall other hearts surprise. 
And other Beauties envy Worsley's eyes ^ 

Each pleasing Blount shall endless smiles bestow. 
And soft Belinda's^ blush for ever glow 

Oh lasting as those Colours may they shine. 
Free as thy stioke, yet faultless as thy line, 

New graces yearly like thy works display. 

Soft without wealxness, without glaring gay. 

Led by some rule, that guides, but not constiains. 
And finishM more through happiness than pams 
The kindred Arts shall in their praise conspire. 
One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre 
Yet should the Graces all thy figures place. 

And breathe an air divme on ev'ry face. 

Yet should the Muses bid my numbers roll 
Strong as their charms, and gentle as their soul. 
With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie. 

And these be sung till Granville's Myra die ^ 
Alas ^ how little from the grave we claim ^ 

Thou but preserv'st a Face, and I a Name 


1 Frances, Lady Worsley, wife of Sir Robert Worsley, Bart 
S See p 81, n 1^ S Miss Termor , see p 39, n 1 

4 George Granville, Lord Lansdowne ( 1665“-17S5) — a friend of 
Pope’s - addressed love verses to Myra 

88 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD 
AND EARL MORTIMERS 

Such were the notes thy once-lov'd Poet sung. 

Till Death untimely stop’d his tuneful tongue 
Oh just beheld, and lost’ admir’d and mourn’d’ 

With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn’d 1 
Blest m each science, blest in ev’ry strain’ 

Dear to the Muse' to Harley dear — in vam’ 

For him, thou oft hast bid the World attend. 

Fond to forget the Statesman in the Friend, 

For SwiFi^ and him, despis’d the farce of state. 

The sober follies of the wise and great , 

Dext’rous, the craving, fawnmg crowd to quit. 

And pleas’d to ’scape from Flattery to Wit 
Absent oi dead, still let a friend be dear, 

(A sigh the absent claims, the dead a tear) 

Recall those nights that clos’d thy toilsome days. 

Still hear thy Parnell in his livmg lays. 

Who, careless now of Int’rest, Fame, or Fate, 
Perhaps forgets that Oxford e’er was great. 

Or deemmg meanest what we greatest call. 

Beholds thee glorious only in thy Fall 
And sure, if aught below the seats divine 
Can touch Immortals, ’tis a Soul like thme 
A Soul supreme, m each hard instance try’d, 

Above all Pain, all Passion, and all Pride, 

1 This Epistle was sent to the Earl of Oxford [[1661-17243 with Dr 
Parnell’s [[167&— 17183 Poems, published by our author, after the 
said Earl’s imprisonment in the Tower [[he was confined there from 
1714-17 after falling from political power3, and retreat mto the 
country in the year 1721 P 

2 Jonathan Swift ( 1667-1745) , the great satirist and fnend of 
Pope’s 


89 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


The rage of Pow'r, the blast of public breath. 

The lust of Lucie, and the dread of Death 
In vain to Deserts thy retreat is made. 

The Muse attends thee to thy silent shade 
'Tis hers the brave man's latest steps to trace, 
Rejudge his acts, and dignify disgrace 
“When Interest calls ofF all her sneaking tiain. 

And all th' oblig'd desert, and all the \am. 

She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell. 

When the last ling'ring friend has bid farewell 
Ev'n now, she shades thy Ev'mng-walk with bays, 
(KTo hireling she, no prostitute to praise) 

Ev'n now, observant of the parting ray. 

Eyes the calm Sun-set of thy various Day, 
Through Fortune's cloud one truly great can see, 
Nor fears to tell, that Mortimer is he 


90 



EPITAPHS 


0\ the HON SIMON H VRCOURT, ONLIt SON OF THF 
LORD CHA^NCELLOR HARCOURT, AT THE CHURCH OF 
blANTON HAECOUET IN OXFORDSHIRE, 1720 

To this sad Slirine, whoe'^er thou art^ diaw near, 
Here lies the Friend most lov'd, the Son mobt deal 
Who ne'er Imew Joy, but Friendship might divide. 

Or ga\e his Father Grief but when he dy'd 
How vam is Reason, Eloquence how weak^ 

If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak 
Oh, let thy oncedov'd Friend inscribe thy Stone, 
And, with a Father's sorrows, mix his own^ 


ON MRS CORBET, WHO DIED OF A CANCER 
IN HER BREAST 

Here rests a Woman, good without pretence. 
Blest with plain Reason, and with sober Sense 
No Conquests she, but o'er herself, desir'd, 

No Arts essay'd, but not to be admir'd 
Passion and Pride were to her soul unknown, 
Convinc'd that Virtue only is our own 
So unaffected, so compos'd a mmd , 

So firm, yet soft , so strong, yet so refin'd , 
Heav'n, as its purest gold, by Tortures try'd* 
The Samt sustain'd it, but the Woman died 


ON SIR WILLIAM TRUMBAL^ 

A PLEASING Form, a firm, yet cautious Mind, 
Sincere, the' prudent, constant, yet resign'd 

1 See p 1, n 1 
91 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 

Honour unchang’^d, a Principle pi ofest. 

Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest 
An honest Courtier, yet a Patriot too , 

Just to his Prmce, and to his Country true 
Fill'd with the Sense of Age, the Fire of Youth, 

A Scorn of Wrangling, yet a Zeal for Truth, 

A gen'rous Faith, from Superstition free, 

A Love to Peace, and Hate of Tyranny , 

Such this Man was , who now, from earth remov'd. 
At length enjoys that Liberty he lov'd 

ON MR GAY, IN W E STM I N S T ER- A B B E Y , 

Of Manneis gentle, of Affections mild. 

In W^it, a Man, Simplicity, a Child 
With native Humour temp'rmg virtuous Rage, 
Form'd to delight at once and lash the age 
Above Temptation, m a low Estate, 

And uncorrupted, ev'n among the Great, 

A safe Companion, and an easy Friend, 

TJnblam'd through Life, lamented m thy End 
These are Thy Honours ? not that here thy Bust 
Is mix'd with Heroes, or with Kings thy dust. 

But that the W'orthy and the Good shall say, 
Strikmg their pensive bosoms — Here lies Gay* 


INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON, 

IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY 

Nature and Nature's Laws lay hid m Night. 
God said, Let Ne^wton bet and all was Light. 


1 See p 85, n 1- 
9 ^ 



ODE ON SOLITUDE^ 


H the man, whose wish and care 

A few paternal acres bound. 

Content to breathe his native air, 

In his own ground 

Whose herds with milk, whose holds vMth breads 
Whose flocks supply him with attue, 

Whose ti ees m summer yield him shade. 

In winter fire 

Blest, who can unconcem'dly find 

Houis, days, and years slide soft away. 

In health of body, peace of mind, 

Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night , study and ease, 

Together mixt, sweet recreation. 

And innocence, which most does please 
With meditation 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown. 

Thus unlamented let me die. 

Steal from the world, and not a stone 
Tell where I he 


1 This was a very early production of our Author, written about 
twelve years old P 


SS 



ON SILENCE^ 


1 

Silence^ coeval with Etermt}' , 

Thou wert, ere Nature's self began to be, 

'Twas one vast Nothing, all, and all slept fast m thee 

II 

Thine was the sway, ere heav'n was form'd, or 
eai th. 

Ere fi uitful Thought conceiv'd Creation's birth, 

Or midwife Word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth 

in 

Then various elements, against thee join'd. 

In one more various animal combin'd, 

And fram'd the clam'rous race of busy humankind 

IV 

The tongue mov'd gently first, and speech was low. 
Till wrangling Science taught it noise and show. 
And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe 

V 

But rebel Wit deserts thee oft' in vam, 

Lost m the maze of words he turns again, 

And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign 


1 This IS an imitation of the Earl of Rochester’s (1648-80) verses 
On Nothing 


9 ^ 



ON SIJLENCE 


VI 

AtHictecl Sense thou kindly dost set free, 

Oppress^'d with argumental t^^iannj, 

And routed Reason finds a safe retreat iri tliee 

VII 

With thee m private modest Dulness licSj, 

And in thy bosom lurks in Thought's disguise. 
Thou \arnisher of Fools, and cheat of all the Wise^ 

VIII 

Yet thy indulgence is by both confest. 

Folly by thee lies sleepmg in the breast, 

^Vnd 'tis m thee at last that Wisdom seeks foi rest 

IX 

Silence^ the knave's repute, the whore's good name. 

The only honour of the wishing dame , 

Thy very want of tongue makes thee a kind of Fame 

X 

But could'st thou seize some tongues that now are 
free. 

How Church and State should be oblig'd to thee ’ 
At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome would'st thou be ^ 

XI 

Yet speech ev'n there, submissively withdiaws 

From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause 
Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy 
Laws 


95 



POEMS OF AI-EXANOER POPE 


XII 

Past services of friends, good deeds of foes, 

V/hat FavYites gam, and what the Nation owes. 
Fly the forgetful world, and m thy arms repose 

XIII 

The country wit, leligion of the town. 

The courtier's learning, policy o' th' gown. 

Are best by thee express'd, and shine m thee alone. 

XIV 

The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry. 

Lord's quibble, critic's jest, all end in thee. 

All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally 


se 



THE DYIISrO CHRISXIAISr 
TO HIS SOUE 


1 

V I X A L spai k of heav’iily fiame * 

Q[uit, oh quit this mortal fi ame 
Tiembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying. 
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying* 
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, 
Anci let me languish into life 

11 

Hark* they whisper, Angels say, 
'Sister Spirit, come away*' 

"What is this absorbs me quite ** 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight. 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? 
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death ^ 

III 

The world recedes ; it disappears I 
Heav'n opens on my eyes * my ears 
With sounds seraphic nng 
Lend, lend your wmgs * I mount ! I fly * 
O Grave * where is thy Victory 
O Death * where is thy Stmg ? 


97 



TO THE AUTHOR OF A POEM 
ENTITLED SUCCESSION- 


Begone, ye critics, and restrain your spite, 

Codrus writes on, and will for ever write 

The heaviest Muse the swiftest course has gone. 

As clocks run'fastest when most lead is on , 

What though no bees around your cradle flew. 

Nor on your lips distill’d the golden dew, 

Y et have we oft discover’d in their stead 
A swarm of drones that buzz’d about your head 
When you, like Orpheus, strike the warblmg lyre. 
Attentive blocks stand round you and admire 
Wit pass’d thro’ thee no longer is the same. 

As meat digested takes a diff’rent name. 

But sense must sure thy safest plunder be. 

Since no reprisals can be made on thee 
Thus thou may’st rise, and m thy daring flight 
(Though ne’er so weighty) reach a wondrous height. 
So, forc’d from engines, lead itself can fly. 

And ponderous slugs move nimbly thro’ the sky 
Sure Bavtus copy’d Maevius to the full. 

And Chaenlus taught Codj~us to be dull,^ 

Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o’er 
This needless labour, and contend no more 
To prove a dull Sticcesston to be true, 

Smce ’tis enough we find it so in you 


1 The author was the dull poet, Elkanah Settle ( 1648—1724) 

98 



PROLOGUE TO MR ADDISON^S 
TRAGEDY OF CATO^ 


To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, 

To laise the genius, and to mend the heart, 

To make mankind, m conscious virtue bold, 

Li\e o'er each scene, and be what they behold 
For tins the Tragic Muse first tied the stage. 
Commanding tears to stream through ev'ry age , 

T3 rants no more their savage natui e kept, 

And foes to virtue w onder'd how they w ept 
Our author shuns by vulgar spimgs to move 
The hero's glory, or the virgin's lo\ e , 

In pitying Love, vve but our w eakness show. 

And wild Ambition w^ell deserves its woe 
Here tears shall flow from a more gen'rous cause. 
Such tears as Patriots shed for dying Laws 
He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rise. 

And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes 
Virtue confess'd m human shape he draws, 

What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was 
No common object to your sight displays. 

But what with pleasure Heav'n itself sur\ eys, 

A brave man struggling in the storms of fate. 

And greatly falling with a falling state 
While Cato gives his little Senate laws. 

What bosom beats not in his Countiy's cause ^ 

Who sees him act, but envies ev'ry deed ^ 

Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed ? 
Ev'n when proud Caesar 'midst triumphal cars. 

The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wai s, 

1 Joseph Addison’s (1679.— 1719) famous tragedy of Cato was first 
acted m 1713 


99 



POBMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Ignobly vain, and impotently great, 

Show'd Rome her Cato’s figure drawn m state. 

As her dead Father’s rev’rend image pass’d. 

The pomp was darken’d and the day o’ercast. 

The Triumph ceas’d, tears gush’d from ev’ry eye. 
The World’s great Victor pass’d unheeded by, 

Her last good man dejected Rome ador’d. 

And honour’d Caesar’s less than Cato’s sword 
Britons, attend be worth like this approv’d. 

And show, you have the virtue to be mov’d 

With honest scorn the first fam’d Cato view’d 

Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she subdued,. 

Your scene precariously subsists too long 

On French translation, and Italian song 

Dare to have sense yourselves , assert the stage. 

Be justly warm’d with your own native rage. 

Such Plays alone should win a British ear. 

As Cato’s self had not disdain’d to hear 


lOO 



EPIGRAM 


ENGRAVED ON THE COLLAR OF A DOG WHICH 1 GAVE 
TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 

I AM His Highness’ dog at Kew; 

Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you ? 


101 



TO MRS M B 1 ON HER BIRTHDAY 

Oh be thou blest with all that Heav’n can send, 
Ix>ng Health, long Y outh, long Pleasure, and a Friend 
Not with those Toys the female world admire. 
Riches that vex, and Vanities that tire 
With added years if Life brmg nothing new. 

But like a Sieve let ev’ry blessing through. 

Some joy still lost, as each vain year runs o’er, 

And all we gam, some sad Reflection more. 

Is that a Birth-day ? 'tis alas * too clear 
’Tis but the Fun’ral of the former year 

Let Joy or Ease, let Affluence or Content, 

And the gay Conscience of a life well spent. 

Calm ev’ry thought, inspirit ev’ry grace. 

Glow m thy heart, and smile upon thy face 
Let day improve on day, and year on year. 

Without a Pam, a Trouble, or a Fear, 

Till Death unfelt that tender frame destroy. 

In some soft Dream, or Ecstasy of Joy, 

Peaceful sleep out the Sabbath of the Tomb, 

And wake to Raptures m a Life to come 


1 


See p 81, n 1 
102 



ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT 


I KNo\\ the thing that's most uncommon , 

(En\3 be silent, and attend 
I know a leasonable 'W'oman, 

Handsome and witty, yet a Friend 

Not w arp'd by Passion, aw 'd by Rumour, 

Not grave through Pride, or gay through Folly, 
An equal Mixture of good Humour, 

And sensible soft Melancholy 

*Has she no faults, then (Envy says) Sir'^' 

Yes, she has one, I must aver 
When all the W^orld conspires to praise her. 

The Woman's deaf, and does not hear 


103 



FROM 


THE ILIAD 
Hector and Andromache 

Hector, this heard, return’^d without Delay, 

Swift thro’ the Town he trod his former way. 
Thro’ Streets of Palaces and Walks of State, 

And met the Mourner at the Scoean Gate 
With haste to meet him sprung the joyful Fair, 
His blameless Wife, Action’s wealthy Heir 
( Cthcian Thebi great Action sway'd, 
AxidHippoplacus’ wide-extended Shade) 

The Nurse stood near, m whose Embraces prest 
His only Hope hung snulmg at her Breast, 
Whom each soft Charm and early Grace adorn. 
Fair as the new-born Star that gilds the Mom 
To this lov'd Irdzxit Hector gave the Name 
Scamandrius, from Scamander’ s honour'd Stream, 
Astyanajc the Trojans call’d the Boy, 

From his great Father, the Defence of Troy. 
Silent the Warrior smil'd, and pleas’d resign’d 
To tender Passions all his mighty Mind 
His beauteous Prmcess cast a mournful Look, 
Hung on his Hand, and then dejected spoke; 

Her Bosom labour’d with a boding Sigh, 

And the big Tear stood tremblmg m her Eye 
‘Too daring Princel ah whither dost thou run'* 
Ah too forgetful of thy Wife and Son' 

And think' St thou not how wretched we shall be, 
A Widow I, an helpless Orphan He' 

For sure such Courage Length of Life denies. 
And thou must fall, thy Virtue’s Sacrifice. 

104 - 



THE lEIAD 


Greece in her single Heroes strode in vain. 

Now Hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain ^ 

Oh grant me Oods^ e're Hector meets his Doom, 

All I can ask of Heav'n, an earlj Tomb^ 

""So shall me Dajs m one sad Xenor iiin. 

And end with Soriows as they first begun 
No Parent now remains, my Griefs to share. 

No father^s Aid, no Mothei's tender Caie 
The fiene Achilles wrapt our Walls in Fire, 

Lay'd Thebe w^aste, and slew my wailike Siie^ 

His fate Compassion m the Victoi bied. 

Stern as lie was, he yet revers'd the Dead, 

His radiant Anns preserv'd horn hostile Spoil, 

And lay'd lum decent on the Fun'ral Pyle, 

Then raised a Mountain where his Bones were burn'd, 
TLhe Mountain Nymphs the rural Tomb adorn'd, 
Jove^s Sylvan Daughters bade tlieir Elms bestow 
A barren Shade, and in his Honour gi ow 

^By tlie same Arm my sev'n brave Brothers fell. 

In one sad Day beheld the Gates of Hell , 

While the fat Herds and Snowie Flocks they fed. 
Amid their Fields the hapless Heroes bled* 

My Mother liv'd to bear the Victor's Bands, 

The Queen of Hippoplacial s Sylvan Lands 
Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again 
Her pleasmg Empire and her native Plain, 

V/hen ah ^ opprest by Life-oonsummg woe. 

She fell a victim to Dzana*s Bow 

""Yet while my Hector still survives, I see 
My Father, Mother, Brethren, all, in thee 
Alas * my Parents, Brothers, Kmdred, all, 

Once more will perish if my Hector fall 
Thy Wife, thy Infant, m thy Danger share 
Oh prove a Husband's and a Father's Care! 

1Q5 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


That Quarter most the skillful Greeks annoy. 

Where yon^ wild Fig-Xrees join the Wall of Troy 
Xhou, from this XowY defend th' important Post, 
Xhere Agamemnon pomts his dreadful Host, 

Xhat Pass Tydides, Ajajc strive to gain 

And there the vengeful Spartan fires his Xram 

Xhrice our bold Foes the fierce Attack have giv'n. 

Or led by Hopes, or dictated from Heav'n 
Let others in the Field their Arms employ. 

But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy * 

Xhe Chief reply'd ‘'Xhat Post shall be my Care, 
Nor that alone, but all the Works of W'ar 
How would the Sons of Troy^ m Arms renown^'d. 
And Troyes proud Dames whose Garments sweep the 
Ground, 

Attaint the Lustre of my former Name, 

Should Hector basely quit the Field of Fame^ 

My early Youth was bred to martial Pams, 

My Soul impells me to th' embattel'd Plams , 

Let me be foremost to defend the Xhrone, 

And guard my Father's Glories, and my own 
'^Yet come it will, the Day decreed by Fates, 
(How my Heart trembles while my Xongue 
relates ^ ) 

Xhe Day when thou. Imperial Troy ^ must bend. 

And see thy Warriors fall, thy Glories end 
And yet no dire Presage so wounds my Mind, 

My Mother's Death, the Rum of my Kind, 

Not JPriam* s hoary Hairs defil'd with Gore, 

Not all my Brothers gaspmg on the Shore, 

As thme, AndromaAie^ thy Griefs I dread, 

I see thee tremblmg, weeping. Captive led^ 

In Argive Looms our Battels to design. 

And Woes, of which so large a Part was thine 1 

106 ? 



THE ILIAO 


Xo bear the Victor haid ComniaiiJs^ or hr^ng 
Xlie Weight of Watt rs from Hyper ia\ Spuog 
^Ihere;, while 30U groan beneath the Load of late,, 
Xhey iTW Behold the mighty Hector \ Wife’ 

Siiint luiughtj^ Greek who h\es thy Teai^ to bee, 

Lnibittei s all thy Woets, by naming me 

Xhe Thoughts of Oloiy past, and piesent Shame, 

A thuusaud Oriefs sliall waken at the Name ^ 

IVfay I he cold beioie that dreadful L>ay, 

Press d witli a Load of Monumental Clay ^ 

Xhj^ Ilea tor \vi apt in everlasting Sleep, 

Sliall neither licai thee sigh, noi see thee weep ' 
Xhus ha\ mg spoke, th' illustiious Chief oi ^Troy 
Stretch'd his fond x\ims to clasp the lovely Boy 
Xhe Babe clung crynng to his NurseS Bieast, 

Scar’d at tlie dazliiig Helm, and nodding Crest 
With secret Pleasure each fond Parent smiFd, 

And Hector hasted to relieve his Child, 

Xhc glitth mg Xeirors from his Brows unbound. 
And plac’d the beaming Helmet on the Ground 
Xhen kist the Child, and lifting high m Air, 

Xhus to tlie Gods prefer’d a Father’s Pray’r 

*0 Xhou ^ w hose Glory fills th' Aetherial Xhrone 
And all ye deathless Pow’rs^ protect my Son* 

Grant him, like me, to purchase just Renown, 

Xo guaid the Trojans, to defend the Crown, 

Against his Country’s Foes the War to wage. 

And rise the Hei tor of the future Age * 

So when triumphant from successful Toils, 

Of Heroes slam he bears the reeking Spoils, 

Whole Hosts may hail him with deserv’d Acclaim, 
And say, *‘Xhis Chief transcends his Father's Fame” 
W^hile pleas’d amidst the gen’ral Shouts of Troy, 
His Mother’s conscious Heart o'erflows with Joy/ 

107 E 



POBMS OF ALEXANDKR POPE 

He spoke, and fondly gazing on her Charms 
Restor'd the pleasing Burden to her Arms, 

Soft on her fragrant Breast the Babe she laid. 
Hush'd to Repose, and with a Smile survey'd 
Xhe troubled Pleasure soon chastis'd by Fear, 

She mingled with the Smile a tender Xear 
Xhe soften'd Chief with kmd Compassion view'd,. 
And dry'd the falling Drops, and thus pursu'd 
^ Andi omache^ my Soul's far better Part, 

Why with untimely Sorrows heaves thy Heart ^ 

No hostile Hand can antedate my Doom, 

Xill Fate condemns me to the silent Xomb 
Fix'd is the Xerm to all the Race of Earth, 

And such the hard Condition of our Birth 
No Force can then resist, no Flight can save. 

All sink alike, the Fearful and the Brave 
No more — but hasten to thy Xasks at home, 

Xhere guide the Spindle, and direct the Loom, 

Me Glory summons to the martial Scene, 

Xhe Field of Combat is the Sphere for Men 
Where Heroes war, the foremost Place I claim, 
Xhe first in Danger as the first m Fame ' 

Xhus having said, the glorious Chief resumes 
His Xow'ry Helmet, black with shading Plumes^ 
His Princess parts with a prophetick Sigh, 
Unwilling parts, and oft' reverts her eye 
Xhat stream'd at ev'ry Look then, moving slow. 
Sought her own Palace, and indulg'd her Woe 
Xhere, while her Xears deplor'd the Godlike Man, 
Xhro' all her Xrain the soft Infection ran, 

Xhe pious Maids their mingled Sorrows shed. 

And mourn the livmg Hector, as the dead 


108 



1 II3L ILI \ D 


Fires at JS^ight 

X a Xroops exulting sate in order round. 

And heanang I" ires illumin'd all the Cyround 
As \\hen the ^-foon, refulgent Lamp of Night ^ 

O'er Hea\ ^ns clear A/ure sheds her sacred Light, 
When not a Bieath disturbs the deep Serene, 

And not a Cloud overcasts the solemn Scene, 
Aiound hei Xhrone the \ivid Planets roll. 

And Star:> unnumbered gild the glowing Pole, 

O'ei the dark Xrees a j^ellower Vex dure shed. 

And tip with SiUer evhy Mountain's Head, 

Xhen shine the Vales, the Rocks in Prospect rise, 

A blood ot Olory buists from all the Skies 
Xhe conscious Swams, re|oicmg in the Sight, 

Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful Light 
So man3 Pl^^mes befoie proud Ikon blaze. 

And lighten glimm'ring Xanthw with then Rays* 
The long Retiections of the distant Fires 
Oleam on the Walls, and tremble on the Spires 
A thousand Piles the dusky Honors gild. 

And shoot a shady Lustre o'er the Field 
Full fifty Guards each flaming Pile attend. 

Whose umber'd Arms, by fits, thick Flashes send 
Loud neigh the Coursers o'er their Heaps of 
Com, 

And ardent Warriors wait the rising Morn 


Vulcan Forges a Shield for Achilles 

Xhus having said, the Father of the Fires 
Xo the black Labours of his Forge retires 

109 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Soon as he bade them blow, the Bellows turnM 
Their iron Mouths, and where the Furnace bum'd. 
Resounding breathed At once the Blast expires 
And twenty Forges catch at once the Fires, 

Just as the God directs, now loud, now low. 

They raise a Tempest, or they gently blow 
In hissmg Flames huge silver Bars are roll’d. 

And stubborn Brass, and Tin, and solid Gold 
Before, deep fix’d, th’ eternal Anvils stand. 

The ponderous Hammer loads his better Hand, 

His left with Tongs turns the vex’d Metal round. 
And thick, strong Strokes, the doubling Vaults 
rebound 

Then first he form’d th’ immense and solid Shield^ 
Rich, various Artifice emblaz’d the Field, 

Its utmost verge a threefold Circle bound, 

A silver Cham suspends the massy Round, 

Five ample Plates the broad Expanse compose. 

And god-like Labours on the Surface rose 
There shone the Image of the Master Mind 
There Earth, there Heav’n, there Ocean he design’d, 
Th’ unweary ’d Sun, the Moon compleatly round. 
The starry Lights that Heav’ns high Convex 
crown’d , 

The Pleiads^ HyadSy with the Northern Team, 

And great Ononis more refulgent Beam , 

To which, around the Axle of the Sky, 

The Bear revolving, points his golden Eye, 

Still shines exalted on th’ aetherial Plain, 

Nor bends his blazing Forehead to the Mam 

Two Cities radiant on the Shield appear. 

The Image one of Peace, and one of War 
Here sacred Pomp, and genial Feast delight. 

And solemn Dance, and Hymenaeal ^ 

HO 



THE 1 1 I A I> 


Along the Street the new-made Brides arc led. 

With torches flaming, to the nuptial Bed, 

The jouthiul Dancers in a Circle bound 
To the* soft hiute, and Cittern* s sil\er Sound 
Thro' the tair Streets, the Matrons in a Row, 

Stand in their Porches, and enjoy the Show 

Iheie, in the swarm a numhous Tiain, 

The sub)ec t ot Debate, a Townsman slam 
One pleads the Fine discharg^'d, wdiich one deny’d. 
And bade the Publick and the Law s decide 
""I he W itness is produc'd on either Hand, 

For this, or that, the partial People stand 
Th' appointed Heialds still the noisy Bands, 

And foini a Ring, with Scepters in their Hands, 

On Seats of Stone, within the sacred Place, 

TLhe re\ Vend Hiders nodded o'er the Case, 
Alternate, each th' attestmg Scepter took. 

And rising solemn, each his Sentence spoke 
Two golden Talents lay amidst, in. sight, 

The Piize of him who best adjudg'd the Right 
Another Part (a Prospect differing far) 

Glow'd wnth refulgent Arms, and horrid W'ar 
Two mighty Hosts a leaguer'd Town embrace. 

And one would pillage, one wou'd burn the Place* 
Meantime the Townsmen, arm'd with silent Care, 

A secret Ambush on the Foe prepare 

Their Wives, their Children, and the watchful Band, 

Of trembling Parents on the Turrets stand 

They march , by Pallas and by Mars made bold , 

Gold were the Gods, their radiant Garments Gold, 

And Gold their Armour These the Squadron led, 

August, Divine, Superior by the Head ^ 

A Place for Ambush fit, they found, and stoexi 
Cover'd with Shields, beside a silver Flood 

111 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Two Spies at distance lurk, and watchful seem 
If Sheep or Oxen seek the winding Stream 
Soon the white Flocks proceeded o^er the Plains, 
And Steers slow -moving, and two Shepherd Swains, 
Behind them, piping on their Reeds, they go. 

Nor fear an Ambush, noi suspect a Foe 
In Arms the glittering Squadron rising round 
Rush sudden , Hills of Slaughter heap the Ground, 
Whole Flocks and Herds lye bleeding on the Plains, 
And, all amidst them, dead, the Shepherd Swains ^ 
The bellowing Oxen the Besiegers hear. 

They rise, take Horse, approach, and meet the War, 
They fight, they fall, beside the silver Flood, 

The waving Silver seem'd to blush with Blood 
There Tumult, there Contention stood confest, 

One rear'd a Dagger at a Captive's Breast, 

One held a living Foe, that freshly bled 
W'lth new-made Wounds, another dragg'd a dead. 
Now here, now there, the Carcasses they tore 
Fate stalk'd amidst them, grim with human Gore 
And the whole War came out, and met the Eye, 
And each bold Figure seem'd to live, or die 

A Field deep“furrow'd, next the God design'd. 
The third time labour'd by the sweating Hind, 

The shinmg Shares full many Plowmen guide. 

And turn their crooked Yokes on ev'ry side 
Still as at either End they wheel around. 

The Master meets 'em with his Goblet crown'd , 
The hearty Draught rewards, renews their Toil, 
Then back the turning Plow-shares cleave the Soil 
The new-ear'd Earth m blacker Ridges roll'd. 

Sable It look'd, tho' form'd of molten Gold 
Another Field rose high with waving Gram, 
With bended Sickles stand the Reaper-Train 

11£ 



rHB ILIAD 


Here sti etch'd m Ranks the le\ el'd Swai ths are found, 
Shea\es heap'd on Shea\es, here tincken up the 
Ground 

With sweeping Stroke the Mowers strew the Lands, 
Xhe Gathhers follow, and collect in Bands, 

And last the Childien, in whose Arms are born 
(Too short to gripe them) the brown Sheaves of Corn 
The rustic Monarch of the Field descries 
With silent Glee, the Heaps around him use 
A ready Banquet on the Turf is laid. 

Beneath an ample Oak’s expanded Shade 
Xhe Victim-Ox the stuidy Youth prepare, 

Xhe Reaper’s due Repast, the Women’s Care 
Next, ripe in yellow Gold, a Vineyard shines. 

Bent with the ponderous Har\ est of its Vines, 

A deeper Dye the dangling Clusters show% 

And curl'd on silver Props, m order glow 
A darker Metal mixt, intrench’d the Place, 

And Pales of glitt’ring Tin th’ Enclosure grace 
To this, one Pathway gently winding leads. 

Where march a Tram w ith Baskets on their Heads, 
(Fair Maids, and blooming Youths) that smiling 
bear 

Xhe purple Product of th' Autumnal Year 
To these a Youth awakes the warbling Strings, 
Whose tender Lay the Fate of Linus sings , 

In measur'd Dance behind him move the Tram, 

Tune soft the Voice, and answer to the Strain 
Here, Herds of Oxen march, erect and bold. 

Rear high their Horns, and seem to lowe in Gold, 
And speed to Meadows on whose sounding Shores 
A rapid Torrent thro’ the Rushes roars 
Four golden Herdsmen as their Guardians stand. 
And nine four Dogs compleat the rustic Band 

113 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


Two Lions rushing* fiom the "Wood appear'd. 

And seiz'd a Bull, the Master of the Herd 
He roar'd in vain the Dogs, the Men withstood. 
They tore his Flesh, and drank the sable Blood 
The Dogs (oft' cheai'd m vain) desert the Prey, 
Diead the grim Terrors, and at distance bay 
Next this, the Eye the Art of Vulcan leads 
Deep thro' fair Forests, and a Length of Meads, 

And Stalls, and Folds, and scatter'd Cotts between. 
And fleecy Flocks, that whiten all the Scene 
A figur'd Dance succeeds Such once was seen 
In lofty Gnossusy for the Cretan Queen, 

Form'd by Daedalean Ait A comely Band 
Of Youths and Maidens, bounding Hand in Hand, 
The Maids m soft Cymarrs of Linen drest. 

The Youths all graceful in the glossy Vest, 

Of those the Locks with fiow'ry Wreaths inroll'd. 

Of these the Sides adorn'd with Swords of Gold, 

That glitt'rmg gay, fi om silver Belts depend 
Now all at once they rise, at once descend. 

With well-taught Feet Now shape, m oblique ways, 

Confus'dly regulai, the moving Maze 

Now forth at once, too swift for sight, they spring. 

And undistinguish'd blend the flying Ring 

So whirls a Wheel, m giddy Circle tost. 

And rapid as it runs, the single Spokes are lost 
The gazing Multitudes admire around , 

Two active Tumblers in the Center botind. 

Now high, now low, their pliant Limbs they bend. 
And gen'ral Songs the sprightly Revel end 

Thus the broad Shield complete the Artist crown'd 
W'lth his last Hand, and pour'd the Ocean round 
In livmg Silver seem'd the Waves to roll, 

Ahd beat the Buckler's Verge, and bound the whole 

11 ^ 



1 ROM 


THE ODYSSEY 
L7).’sv£fv and Uis Dog 

T hij s , near the gates conferring as they di ew, 
Argus, tlie Dog, hxs ancient master knew. 

He, not unconscious of the \oice, and tread. 

Lifts to the sound his eai, and lears Ins head. 

Bred by nourish'd at his board. 

But ah > not fated long to please his Lord ’ 

To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain. 
The \oice of Gloiy call’d him o’er the main 
’Till then m e\’ry sylvan chace renown’d, 

Whth ‘Argus, Argus’, lung the woods around, 

W’ith him the youth pursu’d the goat or fawn. 

Or trac’d the mazy leveret o’er the lawn 
Now left to man’s ingratitude he lay, 

Un-hous’d, neglected, in the pubhek way. 

And where on heaps the rich manure was spread. 
Obscene with reptile, took his sordid bed 

He knew his Lord , he knew, and strove to meet. 
In vain he strove, to crawl, and kiss his feet. 

Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes 
Salute his master, and confess his joys 
Soft pity touch’d the mighty master's soul , 

Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole. 

Stole unperceiv’d , he turn’d his head, and dry’d 
The drop humane then tlius impassion’d cry’d. 

‘What noble beast in this abandon’d state 
Lies here all helpless at Ulysses’ gate ? 

His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise. 

If, as he seems, he was, m better days. 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Some care his Age deserves Or was he priz'd 
For worthless beauty^ therefore now despis'd*^ 

Such dogs, and men there are, meer things of state, 
And always cherish'd by their friends, the Great ' 
"Not Argus so' {Eumaeus thus rejoin'd) 

'But serv'd a master of a nobler kmd. 

Who never, never shall behold him more^ 

Long, long since perish'd on a distant shore ? 

Oh had you seen him, vig'rous, bold and young. 
Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong. 

Him no fell Savage on the plain withstood. 

None 'scap'd him, bosom'd m the gloomy wood, 

His eye how piercing, and his scent how true, 

Xo winde the vapour m the tainted dew ? 

Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast , 

Now years un-nerve him, and his lord is lost^ 

The women keep the gen'rous creature bare, 

A sleek and idle race is all their care 

The master gone, the servants what restrains ^ 

Or dwells humanity where not reigns ^ 

Jove fix'd It certain, that whatever day 
Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away ' 

This said, the honest herdsman strode before 
The musmg Monarch pauses at the door 
The Dog whom Fate had granted to behold 
His Lord, when twenty tedious years had roll'd. 
Takes a last look, and having seen him, dies. 

So clos'd for ever faithful Argus* eyes ^ 


116 



PHOM 


THE DUNCIAD 
The Triumph of Dulness 

O u s I, ^ 1 elate ( for you can tell alone. 

Wits ha\e short Memories, and Dunces none) 
Relate, who fust, who last resigned to rest. 

Whose Heads she pai tly, whose completely blessM, 
Wliat Charms could Faction, what Ambition, lull. 
The Venal quiet, and entrance the Dull, 

^Till drown'd was Sense, and Shame, and Right, and 
Wrong — 

O sing, and hush the Nations w ith th}’' Song^ 

In \ am, in vam, — the all-coniposing Hour 
Resistless falls the Muse obeys the Pow'r 
She conies^ she comes ^ the sable Throne behold 
Of Night Pnmecal, and of Chaos old^ 

Before her, Fancy^^ gilded clouds decay. 

And all its varying Ram-bows die away 
fVzt shoots in vam its momentaiy fires. 

The meteor drops, and m a flash expires 
As one by one, at dread Medea's strain. 

The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain, 

As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand opprest. 

Clos'd one by one to everlasting rest. 

Thus at her felt approach, and secret might. 

Art after Art goes out, and all is Night 
See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled. 

Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head I 

117 



POEMS OF ALEXA-NOER POPE 


Philosophy y that leaned on Heav'n before. 
Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more 
Physic ot Metaphystc begs defence. 

And Metaphyszc calls for aid on Sense ^ 

See Mystery to Mathematics fiy^ 

In vain ^ they ga2:e, turn giddy, rave, and die 
Religion blushing veils her sacred files. 

And unawares Morality expn es 

or public Flame, nor private^ dares to shine, 
Nor htcma?! Spark is left, nor Glimpse divine^ 
Lo ^ thy dread Empire, Chaos ^ is restored , 
Light dies befoie thy uncreating word 
Thy hand, gieat Anarch ^ lets the curtam fall. 
And univeisal Darkness buries All 


IIS 



IROM 


AN ESSAY OX MAN 
.^DUUrsSLD ro henry &t john, 

LORD BOLINOltROKL^ 

I Pt uem 

K\\ VKi , my St John ' leave all meaner things 
To low ambition, and the pride ot Kings 
Let us (since Life can little more supply 
Than just to look about us and to die) 

Expatiate tree o’er all this scene ot jMan , 

A mightj nia/e’ but not without a plan, 

A Wild, whcie weeds and flow Vs promiscuous shoot; 
Or Garden, temptmg w ith torbidden ti uit 
Together let us beat this ample field. 

Try what the open, what the coveit yield. 

The latent tracts, the giddy heights, exploie 
Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar , 

Eye Nature’s walks, shoot Folly as it flies. 

And catch the Manners living as they rise. 

Laugh wheie we must, be candid where we can. 

But vindicate the ways ol God to Man 


II Hope Eternal 

Heav’n from all creatures hides the book of Fate, 
All but the page prescrib’d, their present state 
From brutes what men, from men what spurts 
know 

Or who could suffer Bemg here below ? 

l. Viscount Bolingbroke (1678-1751), statesman and philosopher 

119 



POJEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


The lamb thy not dooms to bleed to-day. 

Had he thy Reason, would he skip and play ^ 
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the fiow'ry food. 

And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood 
Oh blindness to the future ^ kindly giv'n. 

That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n 
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, 

A hero perish, or a sparrow fall. 

Atoms or systems into rum hurl'd, 

And now a bubble burst, and now a world 

Hope humbly then, with trembling pinions soar, 
W’ait the great teacher Death, and God adore 
"What future bliss, he gives not thee to know. 

But gives that Hope to be thy blessing now 
Hope springs eternal m the human bi east 
Man never Is, but always To be blest 
The soul uneasy, and confin'd from home. 

Rests and expatiates m a life to come 

Lo, the poor Indian^ whose untutor'd mind 
Sees God in clouds, or hears him m the wmd. 

His soul, proud Science never taught to stray 
Far as the solar walk, or milky way. 

Yet simple Nature to his hope has giv'n. 

Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heav'n. 
Some safer world m depth of woods embrac'd. 
Some happier island in the wat'ry waste. 

Where slaves once more their native land behold. 
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold 
To Be, contents his natural desire. 

He asks no Angel's wmg, no Seraph's fire. 

But thinks, admitted to that equal sky. 

His faithful dog shall bear him company 


ISO 



AN ESSAY ON MAH 


III The Proper Study 

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan. 

The proper study of Mankind is Man 
PlacM on this isthmus of a middle state, 

A Being darkly wise, and rudely great 
W'lth too much knowledge for the Sceptic side. 

With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride. 

He hangs between, in doubt to act, or rest. 

In doubt to deem himself a God, or Beast, 

In doubt his Mind or Body to prefer. 

Born but to die, and reasoning but to err, 

Alike in ignorance, his reason such, 

W'hether he thinks too little, or too much 
Chaos of Thought and Passion, all confus'd. 

Still by himself abus'd, or disabus'd. 

Created half to rise, and half to fall. 

Great Lord of all things, yet a prey to all , 

Sole judge of Truth, m endless Error hurl'd 
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world ^ 

Go, wond'rous creature ^ mount where Science 
guides. 

Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides. 
Instruct the planets in what orbs to run. 

Correct old Time, and regulate the Sun, 

Go, soar with Plato to th' empyreal sphere. 

To the first good, first perfect, and first fair. 

Or tread the mazy round his follow'rs trod. 

And quitting sense call imitatmg God , 

As Eastern priests in giddy circles run. 

And turn their heads to imitate the Sun 
Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule — 

Then drop into thyself, and be a fool ^ 

19,1 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Superior beings, when of late they saw 
A mortal Man unfold all Nature's law. 

Admir'd such wisdom m an earthly shape, 

And show'd a Newton as we show an ape 
Could he, whose rules the rapid Comet bmd^ 
JDescribe or fix one movement of his Mind ^ 

"Who saw Its fires here rise, and there descend. 
Explain his own beginning, or his end ^ 

Alas, w’^hat wondei ^ Man's superior part 
Uncheck'd may rise, and climb from art to art. 

But when his own great work is but begun. 

What Reason weaves, by Passion is undone 
Trace Science, then, with Modesty thy guide , 
First strip off all her equipage of Pride, 

Deduct what is but Vanity, or Dress, 

Or Learning's Luxury, or Idleness , 

Or tricks to show the stretch of human brain. 

Mere curious pleasure, or ingenious pam. 

Expunge the whole, or lop th' excrescent parts 
Of all our Vices have created Arts , 

Then see how little the remammg sum. 

Which serv'd the past, and must the times to come I 


Opimon* $ Varying Rays 

W^hate'br the Passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf. 
Not one will change his neighbour with himself 
The learxi'd is happy nature to explore , 

The fool is happy that he knows no more , 

The rich is happy m the plenty giv'n. 

The poor contents him with the care of Heav'n 
See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing. 

The sot a hero, lunatic a king, 

1£2 



AN X:SS\Y ON MAM 


Xhe starving chemist in his golden views 
Supremely bless 'd, the poet m bis Muse 

See some stiange comfort c\ Vy state attend 
And piide bestowed on all, a common friend. 

See some bt Passion age supply, 

Hope tra\els through, noi <]jUits us when we die 
Behold the child, hy Natuie% kindly law. 
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw 
Some hvchei ]>laj -thing gives his youth delight, 
A little louder, but as empty quite 
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage. 

And beads and prayX-books aie the toys of age. 
PleasM With this bauble still, as that befoie. 

Till tir^'d he sleeps, and Lifers poor play is o'er 
Mean-while Opinion gilds with varying rays 
Those painted clouds that beautify our days. 
Each want of happiness by Hope supply'd. 

And each vacuity of sense by Pride 

These build as fast as kiiowledge can destroy ; 

In Folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy. 

One prospect lost, another still we gam. 

And not a vanity is giv'n m vain, 

Ev'n mean SelF-love becomes, by force divine. 
The scale to measure others wants by thine 
See! and confess, one comfoit still must rise, 
'Tis this, Tho’ Man's a fool, yet God is wise 


V Happiness 

O H Happiness ^ our being's end and aim ! 

Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content 1 whate'er thy name 
That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh. 
For which we bear to live, or dare to die. 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Which Still SO near us, yet beyond us lies. 
Overlook'd, seen double, by the fool, and wise 
Plant of celestial seed^ if dropt below. 

Say, m what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow ^ 

Fair op'ning to some Court's propitious shine. 

Or deep with di'monds m the flaming mine ^ 

Twin'd with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield. 

Or reap'd m iron harvests of the field ^ 

W'here grows ^ — where grows it not ^ If vain our toil, 
'We ought to blame the culture, not the soil 
Fix'd to no spot is Happiness sincere, 

'Tis nowhere to be found, or every where, 

'Tis never to be bought, but always free. 

And, fled from Monarchs, St John^ dwells with thee 


yi Calm Sunshine or Shame 

W'hat nothing earthly gives, or can destroy. 
The soul's calm sun-shme, and the heart-felt joy. 
Is Virtue's prize A better would you fix 
Then give Humility a coach and six. 

Justice a Conqu'ror's sword, or Truth a gown. 
Or Public Spirit its great cure, a Crown 
Weak, foolish man? will Heav'n reward us there 
With the same trash mad mortals wish for here ^ 
The Boy and Man an individual makes. 

Yet sigh'st thou now for apples and for cakes ^ 
Go, like the Indian, in another life 
Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife. 

As well as dream such trifles are assign'd. 

As toys and empires, for a god-like mind 
Rewards, that either would to Virtue brmg 
No joy, or be destructive of the thing. 



AN I SSAy ON M4N 


Ho\% oft b3^ tliese at sixty are undone 
The virtues of a saint at twenty-one^ 

To whom can Riches give Repute^, or Trust, 

Content, or Pleasure, but the Good and Just ^ 

Tudges and Senates have been liought for gold. 
Esteem and Lov e vv ere nev er to be sold 
Oh iooP to think CJod hates the vvoithy mind. 

The lover and the love oi human-kind, 

Whose hie is hcalthlul, and whose conscience clear. 
Because he wants a thousand pounds a jear 
Honour and shame irom no Condition use, 

Ac^t well jour part, theie all the honoui lies 
Fortune m Men has some small ditthence made — 
One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade. 

The cobler apion'd, and the parson gown'd. 

The fiiai hooded, and the monaieh eroun'd 
'What differ more' (you cry) 'than crown and cowl 
I'll tell you, liiend* a wise man and a tool 
You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, 

Oi , coblei-like, the paison will be drunk. 

Worth makes the man, and want of it the feIlow% 
The rest is all but leather or prunella 

Stuck o'er with titles, and hung round with strings. 
That thou may'st be by kings, or whores of kings. 
Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race. 

In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece 

But by your fathers' worth if year's you rate. 

Count me those only who were good and great 
Go ^ if your ancient but ignoble blood 
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood. 
Go ^ and pretend your family is young , 

Nor own, your fathers have been fools so long 
What can ennoble sots, or slaves^ or cowards ? 

Alas ^ not all the blood of all the Howards 


125 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 


Look next on Greatness , say where Greatness lies ^ 
^Where, but among the Heroes and the Wise 
Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed. 

From Macedonia's madman to the Swede 
The whole strange purpose of their lives to find 
Or make an enemy of all mankind ’ 

Not one looks backward, onward still he goes. 

Yet ne'er looks forward farther than his nose 
No less alike the Politic and Wise, 

All sly slow things, with circumspective eyes 
Men in their loose unguarded hours they take. 

Not that themselves are wise, but others weak 
But grant that those can conquer, these can cheat, 
'Tis phrase absurd to call a Viliam Great 
V/ho wickedly is wise, or madly brave. 

Is but the more a fool, the more a knave 
Wlio noble ends by noble means obtains. 

Or failing, smiles in exile or m chains. 

Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed 
Like Socrates, that Man is great indeed 

What's Fame ? A fancied life m others' breath, 

A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death 
Just what you hear, you have, and what's unknown 
The same (my Lord) if Tally's, or your own 
All that we feel of it begms and ends 
In the small circle of our foes or friends. 

To all beside as much an empty shade 
An Eugene® living, as a Caesar dead , 

Alike or when, or where, they shone, or shine. 

Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhme 
A Wit's a feather, and a Chief a rod. 

An honest Man's the noblest work of God 

1 Alexander the Great, and Charles XII of Sweden 

2 Prmce Eugene of Savoy (166S— 17S6) 

12S 



AN ESSAT ON MAN 

Fame but from death a \iliam"s name can save. 

As Justice tears his body from the grave. 

When what t" oblivion better were resign'd. 

Is hung on high, to poison half manliind 
All lame is foicign, but of true desert. 

Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart* 
One selt-approv mg hour whole jears out-weighs 
Of stupid staiei s, and of loud huzzas. 

And more true joy Marcellas^ exil'd feels. 

Than Caesai w ith a senate at his heels 
In Parts supeiior what ad\arxtage lies ^ 

Tell (tor Tou can) what is it to be wise ^ 

^Xis but to know how little can be known. 

To see all otheis' faults, and feel our own 
Condemn'd in business or m ai ts to drudge, 
^Vithout a second, or without a judge 
Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land ^ 
All fear, none aid you, and tew understand 
Painful pre-eminence^ yourself to view 
Above life's weakness, and its comforts too 
Bring then these blessings to a strict account. 
Make fair deductions, see to what they mount 
How much of other each is sure to cost. 

How each, for other oft is wholly lost. 

How inconsistent greater goods with these , 

How sometimes life is risqu'd, and always ease 
Think, and if still the things thy envy call. 

Say, would 'st thou be the Man to whom they fall ? 
To sigh for ribands if you art so silly, 

Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy 
Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life ^ 

Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife 


1* An opponent of Caesar 
1^7 



roiL\ti> oi \Lrx\NDr:ii popi: 


If Parts allure theCa. think how Bac on shined, 

Xhe wisest, brightest, meanest at mankind 
Or, rasislfd with the whistling of a ISIanie, 
bee Cioinwell, damn^'d to everlasting fame? 

If all, united, thy ambition call, 

Fiom ancient story learn to scorn them all 
Xhere, in tlie rich, the honour 'd, fam'd, and great. 
See the false scale of happiness complete* 

In hearts of Kings, oi aims of Queens who lay. 
How happy* those to rum, these betiay 
Mark by what wretched steps their glory grows, 
hi cm dirt and sea-weed as proud Venice lose. 

In each how^ guilt and greatness equal lan. 

And all that raised the Hero, sunk the Klan 
Now Euiope's lauiels on then brows behold. 

But stain'd with blood, or ill exchang'd for gold 
T[ hen see them broke witli toils, oi sunk m ease, 
Oi mtamous for plundei 'd pro\ mces 
Oh wealth ill-fated* which no act of fame 
E'er taught to shine, or sanctify 'd from shame* 
What greater bliss attends their close of life ^ 
Some greedy mmion, or imperious wife, 

"ihe trophy 'd arches, story'd halls invade. 

And haunt their slumbers m the pompous shade. 
Alas * not dazzled w ith their noontide ray. 
Compute the morn and ev'mng to the day, 

Xhe whole amount of that enormous fame, 

A Tale, that blends their glory with their shame* 


1£8 



\N ILSSWON \f\N 


/"'// Epilog'ue 

Vow I then, iny Friend, my Genius^ come along, 
O mastt*! of the poet, and the song^ 

And while the Muse now stoops, or now as<ends, 
"Fo lStan\ low passions, or their glorious ends, 

'I each me, like thee, m variovis nature wise, 

To fall with dignity, with temper rise, 

Foim'd by thj converse, happilj^ to steer 
From grave to gay, from lively to severe. 

Correct with spa it, eloquent with ease. 

Intent to reason, oi polite to please 

Oh ^ while along the stream of Time thy name 

Evpanded flies, and gathers all its fame. 

Say, shall my little bark attendant sail. 

Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale ^ 

When statesmen, heroes, kmgs, m dust repose. 
Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes. 
Shall then this verse to future age pretend 
Thou weit my guide, philosopher, and friend^ 
That, urg^d by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art 
From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart. 
For Wit's false mirror held up Nature's light, 
Show'd erring Pride, whatjcvkk is, is iught. 

That Reason, Passion, answer one great aim. 

That true Sfif-love and Social are the same. 
That Virtue only makes our Bliss below. 

And all our Knowledge is, ourselves to enow 


19B 



MORAL FSSWS 


LPlsiLl^ I 
l o 

SIR RICH VHD 1 I MPI £ , I OltD COLH 
Of the Knojcledge and CJkii artery 
of ML.S 
I 

\ rs, you despise the mdn to Books confinM, 

Who fiom his study lails at human kmd, 

Tho^ what he learns he speaks, and may advance 
Some genVal maxims, or be right by chance 
The coxcomb biid, so talkative and gra\e, 

That from his cage cries Cuckold, Whore, and Knave, 
Tho" many a passenger he rightly call, 

You hold him no Philosopher at all 

And yet the fate of all extremes is such, 

Men may be read, as well as Books, too much 
To observations which ourselves we make. 

We grow more partial for th" Observer's sake. 

To written Wisdom, as another's, less* 

Maxims are drawn from Notions, those from Guess 
There's some Peculiar in each leaf and gram. 

Some unmark'd fibre, or some varying vein 
Shall only Man be taken in the gross 
Grant but as many sorts of Mmd as Moss ^ 

That each from other differs, first confess , 

Next, that he vanes from himself no less 

Add Nature's, Custom's, Reason's, Passion's strife. 

And all Opmion's colours cast on life 

1 Viscount Cobham (1669-1749) , general, politician and friend of 
Pope’s 

£ There are above SOO sorts of moss observed by naturalists JP* 



M O K A 3L r S *5 A V S 


Our depths 'v\ho fathoms, or our shallows finds, 
Qiiuk w Ini Is, and sluftinec eddies, of oui minds*' 
On human Actions i easoii though 3 . 0 U can. 

It ina 3 be Reason, hut it is not .Man 
His Piintiple of at tion on< e exploie, 

TLhat instant "tis Ins Pimciple no nioie 

lake following life through creatuies jou dissect. 

You lose It in the moment 3011 detect 

Yet moie, tlie difFYence is as gieat between 
TLhe optics seeing, as the objects seen 
All JManners take a tincture from our own. 

Or come discoloui'd, through our Passions shown, 
Oi lane 3’' s beam enlarges, multiplies. 

Contracts, incerts, and gives ten thousand d3es 
Nor will Riie% stream for Observation sta3r. 

It Imrries all too fast to mark their way 
In v^^am sedate reflections we would make, 

When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take* 
Oft, in the Passions' wild rotation toss’d. 

Our spring of action to ourselves is lost 
Tir'd, not detei min'd, to the last we yield. 

And what comes then is master of the field 
As the last image of that troubled heap. 

When Sense subsides, and Fancy sports m sleep, 
(Xho* past the recollection of tlie thought). 
Becomes the stuff of which our dream is wrought 
Something as dim to our internal view. 

Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do 

True, some are open, and to all men known. 
Others so very close they're hid from none, 

(So Darkness strikes the sense no less than Light) 
Thus gracious Chanoos^ is belov'd at sight, 

I James Brydges, Duke of Cbandos (1673-1744) 

131 



F01.MS OI ALrXANDCa POPF 


And evYy child hates Sliyloch, tho' his soul 
Still sits at squat, and peeps not from its hole 
At half mankind when gen'rous Jvfanly^ ia\es. 

All know ’'tis Virtue, for he thinks them knaves 
W hen uiiiveisal homage Umbra pa\ s, 

All see "'tis Vice, and itch of vulgar praise 
\\ hen Flatf'ry glares, all hate it m a Queen, 
\Miile one there is who charms us with his Spleen* 
But these plain Characters we rarely find , 

The' strong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind 
Oi puzzling Contraries confound the whole. 

Or Affectations quite reverse the soul 
The JDull, flat Falsehood serves foi policy , 

And, in the Cunning, Truth itself's a he 
Unthought-~of Frailties cheat us in the Wise, 

The Fool lies hid m inconsistencies 

See the same man, in vigour, in the gout. 
Alone, in company , xn place, or out , 

Early at Business, and at Hazard late. 

Mad at a Fox-ehace, wise at a Debate, 

Drunk at a Borough, civil at a Ball , 

Friendly at Hackney, faithless at Whitehall 
Catius IS ever moral, ever grave. 

Thinks who endures a knave, is next a knave. 
Save just at dinner — then prefers, no doubt, 

A Rogue with 'Venison to a Saint w ithout 

Who would not praise Patritio's high desert. 
His hand unstained, his uncorrupted heart. 

His comprehensive head^ all Interests weigh'd. 

All Europe sav'd, yet Britain not betray’d ^ 

He thanks you not, his pride is m Picquette, 
New-market fame, and judgment at a Bet 

1* Character in Wycherley’s comedy of the Plain Dealer 

13 £ 



MOR \.r LSS \ Y S 


\\1idt made (say Montaigiu% or more sage 
Chai roid ) 

Otho a \% an ior, Cromwell a hufltoon ^ 

A p<*r|ur'd Fume a leaden Saint revere,^ 

\ godless Regent ttemble at a Stai 
^Ihe throne a Bigot keep, a Genius quit, 

Faithless thiough Piety, and dup'd thiough Wit^^ 
Kill ope a Woman, Child, or Dotard rule, 

\nd ]ust he! wisest monarch made a fool 
Know, Cjod and N \iurl only are the same 
In Man, the judgment shoots at flvmg game, 
bird ot passage^ gone as soon as found. 

Now in the Moon perhaps, now under gi ound 


II 

In \ain the Sage, with retrospective eye. 

Would fiom th' apparent What conclude the Why, 
Intel the Moti\ e from the Deed, and shew 
That what we chanc'd was what we meant to do 
Behold^ it Fortune or a Mistress frowns. 

Some plunge in bus'ness, others shave their crowns 
To ease the Soul ot one oppressive weight. 

This quits an Empire, that embroils a State 

1 An imitator of Montaigne 

2 Louis XI of ranee wore in his bat a leaden image of the Virgin 
Mary, which when he swore by he feared to break his oath P 

3 Philip, Duke ot Orleans, Regent m the minority of Louis XV, 
superstitious in judicial astrology, though an unbeliever m all 
religion JR 

^ Philip V ot Spain, who, after renouncing the throne for religion, 
resumed it to gratify his queen, and Victor Amadeus 11, King ot 
Sardinia, w^ho resigned the crown, and, trying to re-assume it, was 
imprisoned till his death P 


135 



FOCMb Oi ALEXANDER POPC 


Xhe same adu^^^t complexion has impeird 
Charles to the Con\ ent, Philip to the h leld ^ 

Not always Actions show tlie man we find 
W'ho does a kindness, is not therefore kind, 

Pei haps Prosperity becalmed his breast, 

Pei haps the Wind ]ust shifted from the east 
Not therefore humble he who seeks retreat. 

Pride guides his steps, and bids him shun the 
great 

Who combats bravely is not therefore biave. 

He dieads a death-bed like the meanest slave 
Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise. 

His pride m Reasoning, not in acting Lies 
But grant that Actions best disco\ er man , 

Xake the most strong, and sort them as you can 
Xhe few that glare each character must rnaik, 

You balance not the many m the dark 
What will you do with such as disagree ^ 

Suppress them, or miscall them Policy ^ 

Must then at once (the character to save) 

Xhe plain rough Hero turn a crafty Knave ^ 

Alas* in truth the man but chang’^d his mind. 

Perhaps was sick, in love, or had not din'd 
Ask why from Britain Caesar would reti eat ^ 

Caesar himself might whisper he w^as beat 
Why risk the world's great empire foi a Punk ^ 
Caesar perhaps might answer he was drunk 
But, sage historians! 'tis your task to prove 
One action. Conduct, one, heroic Love 

""Xis from high Life high Characters are drawn; 

A Saint m Crape is twice a Saint in Lawn , 

A Judge is just, a Chanc'lor juster still, 

A Gownman, leam'd, a Bishop, what you will, 
l Charles V and Philip II of Spam 
134 



MORA! I SS \ VS 


Wise, if a mister but, if a Kni^, 

IMore wise, nioie leain'd, niori* ]ust, inoie evVy 
thing 

Coin t-V irtues bear, like Oenis, the Iiighest rate, 

Horn where Heav^'ifs influence 6caiee can penetrate: 
In life's low \ale, the soil the Virtues like, 

Xhey please as beauties, Iieie as wonders strike 
Tho” the same Sun with all-difiusive rays 
Blush in the Rose, and in the Di'mond blaze. 

We prize the stronger effort of his pow V, 

And lastly set the Gem above the Flowh 
'Tis Education forms the common mind. 

Just as the Twig is bent, the Tree's inclin'd 
Boastful and rough, your first son is a 'Scjuire; 

The next a Tradesman, meek, and much a har, 

Tom struts a Soldier, open, bold, and brate, 

W ill sneaks a Scriv'nei , an exceeding knave 
Is he a Churchman^ then he's fond of pow'r 1 
A Quaker ^ sly A Presby terian ? sour I 

A smart Free-thinker all things in an hour J 
Ask men's Opinions Scoto now shall tell 
How Trade increases, and the World goes well. 
Strike oft his Pension, by the setting sun. 

And Britain, if not Europe, is undone 

That gay Free-thinker, a fine talker once, 

W'hat turns him now a stupid silent dunce ^ 

Some God, or Spirit he has lately found , 

Or chanc'd to meet a Minister that frown'd 
Judge we by Nature ? Habit can efface, 

Int'rest overcome, or Policy take place 
By Actions*^ those Oncertamty divides 
By Passions ^ these Dissimulation hides 
Opinions ^ they still take a wider range 
Find, if you can, m what you cannot change 

ISB 



POLMS or 4irX\NDLR POP! 


Mautiei s \\ ith Fortunes, Humours turn w ith 
Clinics, 

Tenets with Books, and Principles with Tunes 


III 


Search, then, the rliing passion There, alone. 
The W lid aie constant, and the Cunmn| 2 f known, 

"1 he Fool consistent, and the halse sincere, 

Piiests, Princes, Women, no dissemblers here 
This clue once found, unravels all the rest. 

The prospect clears, and Wh\r'ion stands confe^ss'd ^ 
Wharton, the scorn and wonder ot oui days. 

Whose Ruling Passion was the Lust ot Piaisc 
Bom with whatever could win it from the Wise, 
Women and Fools must like him oi he dies, 

Tho' wondering Senates hung on all he spoke, 

The Club must hail him master ot t!ie ]oke 
Shall parts so \arious aim at nothing new^ ^ 

Hell shine a Tully and a Wilmof*^ too 
Then turns repentant, and his God adores 
With the same spirit that he drinks and whores. 
Enough, if all around him but admire, 

And now the Punk applaud, and now the F riar 
Thus with each gift of nature and of art. 

And wanting nothing but an honest heart, 

Growm all to all, from no one Vice exempt. 

And most contemptible, to shun contempt , 


1 Philip Wharton, Duke of Wharton ( 1698-1731 ) , statesman and 
brilliant orator, outlawed for Jacobitism, 1729 

2 John Wiimot, Earl of Rochester, famous for his wit and extrava- 
gances m the time of Charles II P 

136 



M oil A KSSA \ S 


His I\ission still to co\et gen'll al praise. 

His Iafc% to forfeit it a thousand ways, 

\ constant Bount3^ which no iriend lias made, 

\n angel Tongue, whuh no man can pcisuade, 

A Fool, with more of Wit than lialf mankind. 

Too I ash for Thought, foi Action too lehn’d, 

A "lyiant to the wife his heart approves, 

A Rebel to the very king he loves. 

He dies, sad out-cast of each church and state. 
And, harder stilH flagitious, yet not gieat 
Ask you why Wharton broke through ev'ry rule^ 
"Xwas all for fear the Knav^es should call him Fool 
Nature well known, no prodigies remdiii:, 
Comets are regular, and Whartok plain 

Yet, 1X1 this search, the wisest may mistake. 

If second qualities for first they take 
Wlxen Catiline by rapine s well'd his store. 

When Caesar made a noble dame a whore, 

In this the Lust, m that the Avarice 

Were means, not ends. Ambition was the vice 

That very Caesar, bom m Scipio’s days. 

Had aim'd, like him, by Chastity at praise. 
Lucullus, when Frugality could charm. 

Had roasted turnips in the Sabin farm. 

In vam th' observer eyes the builder's toil. 

But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile 
In this one Passion man can strength enjoy. 

As Fits give vigour, just when they destroy 
Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, 

Y et tames not this , it sticks to our last sand 
Consistent in our follies and our sms. 

Here honest Nature ends as she begins 
Old Politicians chew on wisdom past. 

And totter on in business to the last, 

1S7 



POLMS or ^Ll-X\NDER POPE 


As weak, as earnest, and as j^ra^ely out, 

As sober I.anesb"ro\v dancin|Y m tire gout ^ 

Behold a icv'rend sire, %\hom want of grace 
Has made the father of a nameless race, 

Sho\’d from the wall periraps, or rudely press'd 
By las own son, that passes by unbless'd 
Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees. 

And envies ev^Vy spariow that he sees 
A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate. 

The doctor call'd, declares all help too late 
'Mercy*' cues Helluo, 'mercy on my soul* 

Is tliere no hope ^ — Alas* — then bring the jowl ' 

The frugal Crone, whom pra3ring priests attend. 
Still tries to save the hallow'd taper's end. 

Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires. 

For one puff more, and in that puff expires 

'Odious* in woollen* 'twould a Saint provoke,' 
(Weie the last words that poor Nareissa^ spoke), 
'No, let a charming Chintz and Brussels lace 
"Wrap niy cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face 
One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead — 
And — Betty — give this Cheek a little Red ' 

The Courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd 
An humble servant to all human kind, 

Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could 
stir, 

'If — where Fm going — I could serve you. Sir 

1 An ancient nobleman, who continued this practice long after his 
legs were disabled by the gout Upon the death of Prince George 
of Denmark, he demanded an audience of the Queen, to advise her 
to preserve her health and dispel her grief by dancing P 
S Several attribute this to a very celebrated actress, who m 
detestation of the thought of being buried m woollen, gave these 
last orders with her dying breatli P An act of 1678 to protect 
the woollen industry obliged the dead to be buried ii\ woollen 

ISB 



MOR M i SSW S 


--ind I dtnisc” (old F3ucIio said. 

And sigh'd ) *m\ lands and tenements to Ned ' 
*Your money. Sir-'’' "'Aly nionr 5 % Sir, ^vhat ail" 

Wh3» — if I must' — (then wept) give it Paul ' 
^The Manor, Sir — 'Tiie Manor ^ hold' (he cued), 
*Not that, — I cannot part with that' — and died 
And yau^ brave Cobham^ to the latest breath 
Sliail feel your ruling passion sti ong in death 
Sudi in those moments as in all the past, 

*Oh, save my Country, Heav'n^' shall be your last 


EPISX3LE II 
TO A I 

Of the Characters of women 

Nothing so true as what you once let fall, 

^Most Women have no Characters at all ' 

Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear. 

And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair 
How many pictures of one Nymph we view. 

All how unlike each other, all how true ^ 

Arcadia's Countess, here, m ermm'd pride. 

Is there, Pastora by a fountain side 

Here Fannia, leering on her own good man. 

And there, a isitaked Leda with a Swan 
Let then the Fair one beautifully cry, 

In Magdalen's loose hair and lifted eye. 

Or dress'd in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine, 

“With simp'ring Angels, Palms, and Harps divine, 
"Whether the Charmer sinner it or saint it. 

If Folly grow romantic, I must paint it 


1 Martirn Blount, see p 81, n 1 
139 



POEMS OI ^irXANDER POPE 


Come then^ t!ie colours and the ground prepare*' 
Dip in the Rauihow, trick hei oH m Air, 

Choose a firm Cloud, betoie it tall, and in it 
Catch, e^'er she change, the Cynthia ot this minute 
Rufa, whose eye quick-glancing o'er the Paik, 
Attiacts each light gay meteor of a Spark, 

Agiees as ill with Rufa studying Locke, 

As Sappho's diamonds with her duty smock. 

Or Sappho at her toilet's gieasy task, 

AVith Sappho fragrant at an c\ ^ning Mask 
So morning Insects that m muck begun, 

Shine, buzz, and fiy-blow m the setting sun 
How soft is Siha^ fearful to offend, 

Xhe frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend 
Xo hei, Calista prov'd her conduct nice. 

And good Simplicius asks ot her advice 
Sudden, she storms ^ she raves ^ You tip the wmk. 
But spare your censure , Siha does not drink 
All eyes may see from what the change arose. 

All eyes may see — a Pimple on her nose 
Papillia, w^edded to her am'rous spark. 

Sighs for the shades ^ ~ ‘How charming is a Park^' 
A Park is purchas'd, but the Fair he sees 
All bath'd m tears — ‘Oh odious, odious Xrees^' 
Ladies, like variegated Xuhps, show, 

'Xis to their Changes half then charms we owe. 
Fine by defect, and delicately weak, 

Xheir happy Spots the nice admirer take 
'Xwas thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd. 

Aw'd without Virtue, without Beauty charm'd. 
Her Xongue bewitch'd as oddly as her Eyes, 

Less Wit than Mimic, more a W’lt than wise. 
Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had. 
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad, 

140 



MORIL IS$A.YS 


Yet ne'rr so sine oui passton to create. 

As when she touch'd the dunk oi aii we hate 
Xaicissii s natuie, toleiabl3. mild. 

To make a wash^ would hardly stew a child. 

Has ev ’n been pi o\ *d to g;rant a Lov^'er's praj V, 

And paid a Tradesman once, to make him stale, 

Ga\e alms at Easter, in a Christian trim, 

And made a \\ ido\\ happy, for a whim 
Why then declare Good-nature is licr scoin. 

When 'tis b} that alone she can be boin^ 

Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name ^ 

A tool to Pleasure, 3’'et a sla\e to Fame 
Now deep in la^lor and the Book of Martyrs,^ 

Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres ^ 
Now Conscience dulls hei, and now Passion burns. 
And Atheism and Religion take their turns , 

A Heathen m the carnal part. 

Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart 
Sec Sm in State, majestically drunk. 

Proud as a Peeress, prouder as a Punk, 

Chaste to hei Husband, frank to all beside, 

A teeming Mistress, but a barren Bride 
What then ^ let Blood and Body bear the fault. 

Her Head's untouch'd, that noble seat of Thought 
Such'^his day's doctrine — m another fit 
She sms w ith Poets through pure Love of Wit 
What has not fir'd her bosom or her brain — 

Caesar and Tail-boy,® Charles and Charlema'ne ? 

As Helluo, late Dictator of the Feast, 

The Nose of Haut gout, and the Tip of Taste, 

1 Jeremy Taylor's Holy Jjiving and Holy Dying, and John Foxe’s 
Book of Martyrs 

£ See p 149, n 1 

$ Character m a comic opera, Ihe Jovial Crew* 

141 



P O I M S O I- A r I V %. N L> L H P P 


Critiqu^'d your \\iik% and anaHv'd y^ui meat, 
et on plain pudding deign'd at lionie to eat. 

So Philomede, lecturing all mankind 
On the soft Passion and tlie Taste refined, 

Th' Address, the JDclicacy — stoops at once. 

And makes her hearty meal upon a Dunce 
Fla\ia's a Wit, has too much sense to praj , 

To toast our wants and wishes, is her way. 

Nor asks of God, but of her Stars, to give 
The mighty blessing, ‘While we live, to live ' 

Then all for Death, that Opiate of the soul ^ 

Lucretia's dagger, Rosamorida's bowl 

Say, what can cause such impotence of mmd ? 

A Spark too fickle, or a Spouse too kind 

'Wise Wretch ^ with pleasuies too refin’d to please. 

With too much Spirit to be e'er at ease, 

Whth too much Quickness ever to be taught, 

W'ltli too much 'Ihmkmg to ha\e common Thought 
You purchase Pam with all that Joy can give. 

And die of nothing, but a Rage to live 

Turn then from Whts, and look on Simo's IMate, 
No Ass so meek, no Ass so obstinate 
Or her, that owns her Faults, but never mends, 
Because she's honest, and the best of Friends 
Or her, whose life the Church and Scandal share. 
For ever in a Passion or a Pray V 
Or her, who laughs at Hell, but (like her Grace) 
Cries, ‘Ah^ how charming, if there's no such place*'’ 
Or who in sweet vicissitude appears 
Of Mirth and Opium, Ratafie and Tears, 

The daily Anodyne, and nightly Draught, 

To kill those foes to fair ones. Time and Thought 
W^oman and Fool are two hard things to hit. 

For true No-meanmg puzzles more than Wit 

14 £ 



M O R \ I R S S A T i> 


But what aie these to great Atossa*'s niind ^ 

Scarce once herselt, turns all Womankind ^ 

Who, with litrseli, or others, from lier biith 
Finds all lier life one warfare upon eaith 
Shmes, m exposing I\na\es, and painting FooK, 

Yet IS whatever she hates and ridicules 
No Thought advances, but her Edd3^ Brain 
Whisks It about, and down it goes again 
Full sixty years the World has been her Trade, 

The wisest Fool much T. ime has ever made 
Ft cm loveless Youth to unrespected Age, 

No Passion gratified, except her Rage 
So much the Fury still out-ran the W^it, 

The Pleasure miss'd her, and the Scandal hit 
Who breaks with her, provokes Revenge from Hell, 
But he's a bolder man who dares be well 
Her evVy turn with Violence pursu'd. 

Nor more a storm her Hate than Gratitude 
To that each Passion turns, or soon or late. 

Love, if It makes her yield, must make her hate 
Superiors ? death ^ and Equals ? what a curse ^ 

But an Inferior not dependent ? worse * 

Offend her, and she knows not to forgive 
Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live 
But die, and she'll adore you — Then the Bust 
And Temple rise — then fall again to dust 
Last night, her Lord was all that's good and great 
A Knave this morning, and his W^ill a Cheat 
Strange ! by the Means defeated of the Ends, 

By Spirit robb'd of Pow'r, by Warmth of Friends, 
By Wealth of Follow'rs^ without one distress. 

Sick of herself through very selfishness ^ 

Atossa, curs'd with ev'ry granted pray'r. 

Childless with all her Children, wants an Heir 

14S 



POl Mb or A L JL V \ N' I £i POP! 


Xo Ilciis imlxiiown descends tli* uiiguaidcd stoic% 
Oi wandei s, IIeav'n--dirccted, to the Poor 
Piotioes like these, dear IVIadain, to design. 

Asks no firm hand, and no uneirmg Ime, 

Some wandVing touches, some i effected light. 
Some filing stioke alone can hit 'em right 
I' or how should equal Colours do the knack'' 
Chameleons who can paint in white and black '' 

^Yet Cloe, sure, was torui’d without a spot' — 
Nature in her then err'd not, but torgot 
"With evVy pleasing, ev'ry prudent part. 

Say, what can Cloe want'"' — She wants a Heait 
She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought. 

But never, never reach'd one gen'rous Thought 
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour. 

Content to dwell in Decencies for ev^er 
So very i easonable, so unniov 'd. 

As never yet to love, oi to be lov'd 

She, w hile hei Lover pants upon her bi east. 

Can mark the figures on an Indian chest, 

And when she sees her Friend in deep despan. 
Observes how much a Chmtz exceeds Mohair 
Forbid It, Heav'n, a Favour or a Debt 
She e'er should cancel ^ ~ but she may forget 
Safe IS your Secret still in Cloe's ear. 

But none of Cloe's shall you ever hear 
Of all her Dears she never slander'd one. 

But cares not if a thousand are undone 
Would Cloe know if you're alive or dead ? 

She bids her Footman put it in her head 
Cloe IS prudent — Would you, too, be wise ^ 

Then never break your heart when Cloe dies 
One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen. 
Which Heav'n has varnish'd out, and made a Q^een 

144* 



M O K \ 3 rss w s 


1 lo s\M} ion i\iK^ and desciih’d bv all 

With Truth and Goodness, as with Ciown and Bali 

Poets heap \ii:tues. Painters Gems at will. 

And shou then i^eal, and hide tlieir want of skill 
"Xis well — but. Artists’ who can paint or write. 

To draw the Naked is ^^our true deli|2^ht 
T hat Robe of Quality so stiuts and swells. 

None see what Parts ol Natuie it lonceals 
Th' cxactest ti aits of Body or of \lind. 

We owe to models of an humble kind. 

If Qli iNsHCKRTi^ to strip there*s no conipelling;, 

'TTs from a Handmaid we must take an Helen 
From Peer or Bishop ’tis no easy thing 
Xo draw the man who loses his God, or King 
Alas ^ I copy ( or my draught w ould fail ) 

From honest MatPmet,^ or plain Parson Hale ® 

But grant, m Public, Men sometimes are shown, 

A ‘Vy^'ornanX seen in Private Life alone 
Our bolder Talents m full light display^, 

Tour Virtues open fairest in the shade 
Bred to disguise, in Public 'tis you hide; 

There, none distinguish Twixt your Shame or Pride, 
Weakness or Delicacy, all so nice. 

That each may seem a Virtue, or a Vice 
In Men, we various Rulmg Passions find. 

In Women, two almost divide the kind. 

Those, only they first or last obey. 

The I^ove of Pleasure, and the Love of Sway 

1 Catherine Douglas, Duchess of Queensberry (d 1777) , an eccen- 
tric fjeauty 

^ Servant to the late king, said to be the son of a Turkish Bassa JP 

S Dr Stephen Hale, not more estimable for his useful discoveries as 
a natural philosopher, than for his exemplary life as a parish 
priest P 


145 



I* Oh MS Ol I I V \ N O 1 H P O P i 


That, Natuie gi\es, and wheie the losson taught 
Is but to please, can Flcasuic seem a faults 
Expeuence, this, by \Ian\ oppression curst. 

They seek tlie second not to lose the first 

iVIen, some to Bus ness, some to Pleasure take, 
But e\hy Wonian is at lieart a Rake 
Men, some to Quiet, some to public Strife , 

But ev^ry Lady would be Queen for hie 

Yet niaik the fate of a whole sex of Queens^ 
Bow'll all tlicn end, but Beauty all tlic means 
In Youth they conquer, with so wild a rage, 

As leaves them scarce a subject in their Age 
For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam, 

No thought of peace or happiness at home 
But Wisdom's triumph is well-tim'd Retreat, 

As hard a science to the Fair as Great ^ 

Beauties, like Tyrants, old and friendless grown. 
Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone. 

Worn out in public, weary ev'ry eye. 

Nor leave one fi>igh behind them when they die 
Pleasures the sex, as children Birds, pursue. 

Still out of reach, yet never out of view; 

Sure, if they catch, to spoil the Toy at most. 

To covet flying, and regret when lost 
At last, to follies Y outh could scarce defend. 

It grow s their Age's prudence to pretend , 

Asham'd to own they gave delight before. 

Reduc'd to feign it, when they give no more 
As Hags hold Sabbaths, less for joy than spight. 

So these their merry, miserable Night, 

Still round and round the Ghosts of Beauty glide. 
And haunt the places where their honour died 
See how the W'orld its Veterans rewards ^ 

A Youth of Frolics, an old Age of Cards, 

14e 



MitK A J } SS W \ 


Ta,ir to no purpose, artful to no end^ 

Young without old without a loitnd, 

A Fop then Passion, but their Fri/e a S<jt, 

Aii\e, ridiculous, and dead, iorgot^ 

Ah, Friend ^ to dazzle let the Yam design 
""lo laese the Thougiit, and touch the Heait, be thine ^ 
That Charm shall glow, while what fatigues the Ring-, 
hlaunts and goes down, an unregaided thing 
So when the Sun's hioad beam has tir'd the sight,, 

All nuld asiimds the Moon's more sober light. 
Serene in Virgin Modesty she shines. 

And unobser\ 'd the glaring Orb declines 

Oh^ blest with Temper, whose unclouded lay 
Can make to-morrow chearful as to-day. 

She, who can love a Sister's charms, or hear 
Sighs for a Daughter with unwounded ear, 

She, who ne'er answers till a Husband cools, 

Or, if she rules him, ne\er shows she rules. 

Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, 

Yet has her humour most, when she obeys , 

Let Fops or Fortune fly which way they will , 
Disdains all loss of Tickets, or Coddle, 

Spleen, Vapours, or Small-pox, above them all. 

And Mistress of herself, though China fall 
And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, 

'Woman's at best a Contradiction still 
Heav'n, when it strives to polish all it can 
Its last, best work, but forms a softer Man, 

Picks from each sex, to make the Fav'rite blest. 
Your love of Pleasure, our desire of Rest 
Blends, in exception to all gen'ral rules, 

Your Taste of Follies, with our Scorn of Fools* 

1 See p 41, n 1 
147 



POIMS Of. ALLXANDFK POPE 


Reser\e with Frankness, Art with Truth allied, 
Courage with Softness, Modest}^ with Pride, 

Fix’d Principles, wnth Fancy e\er new , 

Shakes all togetliei, and produces — You 

Be this a Woman '’s Fame with this unblest, 
Toasts live a scorn, and Queens may die a jest 
This Phoebus promis’d (I forget the 3"ear) 

When tlmse blue eyes fust open’d on the sphere. 
Ascendant Phoebus watch’d that hour with care. 
Averted half ^"our Parents’ simple Prater, 

And gav e you Beauty, but deny ’d the Pelf 
That buys your Sex a Tyrant o’er itself 
The gen’ious Cxod, who Vv^it and Gold refines, 

And iipens Spirits as he ripens Mines, 

Kept Di OSS for Duchesses, the world shall know it. 
To you gave Sense, Good-humoui, and a Poet 


EPXSTLF HI 

TO LFN LORD BVTHURSl^ 

Of the Use of ri c h f s 

P Who shall decide, w'hen Doctors disagree. 

And soundest Casuists doubt, like you and me ^ 

You hold the word, from Jove to Momus giv’n. 

That Man w^as made the standing jest of Pleav’n , 
And Gold but sent to keep the fools m play. 

For some to heap, and some to throw away 
But I, who think more highly of our kind, 

(And, surely, Heav’n and I are of a mmd) 

Opme, that Nature, as m duty bound* 

Deep hid the shining mischief under ground 

1 Allen Apsley, Lord Bathurst (1684—3.775), M P , and friend of 
Pope^fi* 


148 



MiUi \h I SSAYS 


But when, !>} MaiiN audacious laboui won, 

Flam'^d loith this rival to its hue, the Sun, 

Then < aictiil Hcav'^n supply'd two suits of Men, 

To squandci 'I Ik se, and Those to hide ajif^en 

Like Doctors thus, when niuch dispute has pass'd. 
We hncl our tenets ]ust the same at last 
Both faoly owning. Riches, in eiiect. 

No grace ot Hca\'n oi token oi th' Klett, 

Oi\'n to the Fool, die \Iad, the Vain, the E\il, 

To Waid, to Wateis, Chaitres, and tin Desil ^ 

B What Nature wants, commodious Crokl be- 
stov\s, 

'Tis thus we eat the bread anothci sows 
P But how unequal it bestows, observe, 

'Tis thus we not, while who sow it starve 
What Nature wants (a phrase I much distiust) 
Extends to Luxury, extends to Lust 
Useful, I grant, it serves what hlc lequires. 

But dreadtul too, the daik Assassin hires 

1 Jolin Ward, of Hackney, Esej , member of Parliament, being prose- 
cuted and convicted of forgery, was first expelled the House, 
and then stood in the pillory During his confinement, his amuse- 
ment was to give poison to dogs and cats, and see them expire by 
slower or quicker torments Francis Chartres, a man infamous 
for all manner of vices When he was an ensign in the army, he 
was drummed out of the regiment for a cheat After a hundred 
tricks at tlie gaming tables, lie took to lending money at an exor- 
bitant interest in a word, by the constant attention to the vices, 
wants, and follies of mankind, he acquired an immense foitune 
His house was a perpetual bawdy-house He was twice condemned 
tor rapes, and pardoned He died in Scotland, m 1731, aged sixty- 

two Tlie populace at his funeral raised a great not, almost tore 
the body out of the coffin, and cast dead dogs, etc , into the grave 
along with it Mr Waters, the third of these worthies, was a man 
nt> way resembling the former m his military, hut extremely so in 
his civil capacity , his great fortune having been raised by the like 
attendance on the necessities of others JP 

149 



POIMS nr \irXA.NDER POPE 


B Tiade it may help. Society extend 
P But lures the Pirate, and corrupts the Fiiend 
B It raises Armies in a Natioo'o aid 
P But bribes a Senate, and the Land s betray'd 
In "vain niaj Heroes hght, and Patriots rave. 

If secret Oold sap on fiom kna\e to kna\e 
Once, we confess, beneath the Patriot's cloak,^ 

From the crack'd bag the d*-opping Guinea spoke. 

And Jingling dov\n the back-stairs, told the crew, 

"Old Cato is as great a Rogue as you ' 

Blest paper-credit * last and best supply ^ 

That lends Corruption lighter wangs to fly^ 

Gold imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things. 

Can poc ket States, can fetch or carry Kings , 

A single leaf shall waft an Ai my o'er. 

Or ship off Senates to a distant shoie,^ 

A leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and iro 

Our fates and fortunes, as the wnrids shall blow 

Pregnant with thousands flits the Scrap unseen. 

And silent sells a Kmg, or buys a Queen, 

Oh ^ that such Bulky bribes as all might see. 

Still, as of old, encumber'd Villainy ^ 

Could France or Rome divert our brave designs. 
With all their brandies, or with all their wines?' 
What could they more than Knights and Squires con- 
found. 

Or water all the Quorum ten miles round ^ 

1 This IS a true story, which happened in the reign of William III 
to an unsuspected old patriot, who, coming out of the back-door 
from having been closeted by the king, where he had received a 
large bag of guineas, the bursting of the bag discovered his busi- 
ness there P 

£ Alludes to several ministers, councillors, and patriots, banished m 
our time to Siberia, and to tliat more glorious fate of the Parlia- 
ment of Paris, banished to Pontoise in the year 1720 P 

150 



MOHAL ASSAYS 


A Statesman's slumbers how tins speech would 
spoil ^ 

'Sir» Spam has sent a thousand jars of oil , 

Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door, 

A hundi ed oven at your levee roar ' 

Poor Avarice one torment more would find. 

Nor could Prolusion squander all in kind 
Astride his cheese. Sir Morgan might we meet. 

And Worldly crying coals from street to sti ect,^ 
Whom, wuth a wig so wild, and mien so maz'd. 

Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman crav'd 
Had Colepeppei's whole wealth been hops and hogs. 
Could he himself have sent it to the dogs 
His Grace will game to W^iite’s^ a Bull be led, 

With spurning heels, and with a butting head 
To White's be carry 'd, as to ancient games, 

Fair Coursers, Vases, and alluring Dames 
Shall then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep. 

Bear home six Whores and make his Lady weep ^ 

Or soft Adorns, so perfum'd and fine. 

Drive to St James's a whole herd of swine ^ 

Oh filthy check on all industrious skill. 

To spoil the nation's last great trade. Quadrille * 

i Some misers of great wealth, proprietors of the coal-mmes, had 
entered at this time into an association to keep up coals to an ex- 
travagant price, whereby the poor were reduced almost to starve, 
till one of them* taking advantage of underselling the rest, defeated 
the design One of these misers was worth ten thousand, another 
seven thousand a year P, 

B Sir Wdham Colepepper, Bart, a person of an ancient family, and 
ample fortune, without one other quality of a gentleman, who, 
after ruining himself at the gaming-table, passed the rest of his 
days in sitting there to see the rum of others preferring to subsist 
upon borrowing and begging rather than to enter into any reput- 
able method of life P 

3 White's Chocolate House m St James’s Street, a haunt of gamblers, 

151 



FOJLMS or Al i VANDTR FOPi 


Since then, my I.oid, on such a Woild ^^e fall. 

What saj you»* 

B Whj, take it. Gold and all 

P What Kichts gne us, let us then inquire 
Melt, Fne, and Clot!ies 

B Whatnioic^ 

P Meat, Clodies, and hire 

Is this too little ^ \\ould ’you more than li\c '' 

Alas^ 'tis more than Turner finds they give ^ 

Alas^ 'tis more than (all his Visions past) 

Unhappy Wharton,^ waking, found at last^ 

W^hat can they give ^ to dymg Hopkins, Heirs 
To Chartres, Vigour, Japhet,^ Nose and Ears ^ 

Can they in gems bid pallid Hippia glow. 

In Fulvia's buckle ease the tlirobs below. 

Or heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail. 

With all th" embroidVy plaster'd at thy taiP 
They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend) 
Give Harpax' self the blessing ot a Friend, 

Or find some Doctor that would save the life 
Of wretched Shylock, spite of Sliylock's Wife 
But thousands die, without or this or that. 

Die, and endow a College, or a Cat ® 

To some, indeed, Heav'n grants the happier fate, 

T' enrich a Bastard, or a Son they hate 

Perhaps you think the Poor might have their part ^ 
Bond damns the Poor, and hates them fiom his heart ® 

1 Richard Turner, a notorious mistr e See p 1S6, n 1 

S A citizen, whose rapacity obtained him the name of Vulture -P 

4f Japhet Crooke who was punished with the loss of those parts, 
tor having forged a conveyance of an estate to himself P 

5 A famous Duchess in her last wall, lett considerable legacies and 
annuities to her cats P 

6 Dennis Bond, M P , expelled the House ot Commons for a breach 
of trust 


152 



MOR\l hhS^.YS 


Tlie gra\e Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule. 

That "e\"iy man in want is l\na\e or fool 
'God cannot k>\c' Blunt, with tearless eyes)^ 

'The wretch he starves’ — and piously denies 
But the good Bishop, with a meeker air. 

Admits, and leaves them. Providence's care 
Yet, to he ]ust to these poor men of pelf. 

Each does but hate his neighbour as hirnselt 
Damn'd to the Mines, an equal fate betides 
The Slave that digs it, and the Slave that hides 
B Who suffer thus, mere c harity should own, 
Must a{t on motives povvhful, tho' unknown 

P Some War, some Plague, or Famine they fore- 
see. 

Some Revelation hid from you and me 

Why Shy lock wants a meal, the cause is found. 

He thinks a Loaf will rise to fifty pound 
W hat made Directors cheat m South-sea year ? 

To live on Ven’son when it sold so dear ® 

Ask you why Phryne the whole Auction buys ^ 

Phryne foresees a general Excise 

Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum ^ 

Alas ^ they fear a man will cost a plum ^ 

Wise Peter sees the World’s respect for Gold, 
And therefore hopes this Nation may be sold ^ 

1 Sir Gilbert Heathcote (1651—1733), Lord Mayor of London, 
M F , and Governor of the Bank of England 

S See p 154, n Q 

S In the extravagance and luxury of the South-Sea year, the pnee 
of a haunch of venison was from three to five pounds P The 
South-Sea Company collapsed in 17£0, spreading financial ruin, 
after fantastic sums had been realised* 

4 ,£ 100,000 

5 Peter Walter (d 1746) , an attorney who acquired a vast fortune 

153 



P O r M S O i V I L V A N D I li F O i' £ 


Glorious Ambition ^ Peter, swell thy store, 

And be w^hat Rome’s great Didius^ was bcfoie 
The Crown oi Poland, \enal twice an age. 

To just three millions stinted modest Gage 
But nobler scenes Mana’s di earns unfold,^ 

Hereditary Realms, and worlds of Gold 
Congenial souls ^ whose life one Av'nce joins. 

And one fate bunes in th’ Asturian Mines 

Much-mjur’d Blunt why bears he Britain’s hate ^ 
A w^izard told him m these words our fate 
’'At length Corruption, like a gen’ral flood, 

(So long by watchful Ministers withstood) 

Shall deluge all , and Av Vice creeping on. 

Spread like a low-bom mist and blot the Sun, 
Statesman and Patriot ply alike the stocks. 

Peeress and Butler share alike the Box, 

And Judges job, and Bishops bite the town. 

And mighty Dukes pack cards for half-a-crown 
See Britain sunk m lucre’s sordid charms. 

And France reveng’d of Anne’s and Edwaro’s arms^’' 


1 A Roman lawyer, so rich as to purchase the Empire when it was 
set to sale upon the death of Pertinax P 
S The two persons mentioned were of quality, each of whom in the 
Missisippi nSchemeJ despised to realise above three hundred 
thousand pounds , the gentleman with a view to the purchase of the 
crown of Poland, the lady on a vision of the like royal nature They 
have since retired into Spain, where they are still m search of gold 
in the mines of the Asturias P 

S Sir John Blunt was one of the first projectors of the South-Sea 
Company, and afterwards one of the directors and chief managers 
of the famous scheme in 17^0 Whether he did really credit the 
prophecy here mentioned is not certain, but it was constantly m 
this very style he declaimed against the corruption and luxury of 
tlie age He was patricularly eloquent against avarice in great 
and noble persons He died m the year 1732 P 

154 



MOH\I 1-SS\\S 


“"Twas no Court-badge, gieat Siri\'rier* firm'd thj" 
brain, 

Nc’^r lordi}^ Luxuij, nor Citj Gam 

Ko, "t%\as thy righteous end, asharn'd to see 

Senates degenerate. Patriots disagiee. 

And nobly wishing Paitj-rage to cease, 

Xo buy both sides, and gi've thy Country peace 
*A11 this IS madness/ cries a sober sage 
But who, niy liiend, has reason in his rage ^ 

‘The Ruling Passion, be it what it will. 

The Ruling Passion conquers Reason still ‘ 

L^ss mad the wildest whimsy we can frame. 

Than ev'n that Passion, if it has no Aim , 

For though such motives Folly you may call. 

The Fenya's greater to have none at all 

Hear, then, the truth ‘ 'Tis Heaven each Passion 
sends. 

And difF'rent men directs to different ends 
Extremes m Nature equal good produce. 

Extremes m Man concur to genVal use * 

Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow ^ 

That Pow^'r who bids the Ocean ebb and flow. 

Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain. 
Through reconciFd extremes of drought and ram. 
Builds Life on Death, on Change Duration founds. 
And gives th' eternal wheels to know their rounds 
Riches, like insects, when conceaPd they lie 
W"ait but for wings, and m their season fly 
Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store. 

Sees but a backward steward for the Poor , 

This year a Reservoir, to keep and spare. 

The next a Fountain, spouting through his Heir, 

In lavish streams to quench a Country's thirst. 

And men and dogs shall drmk him till they burst 

155 



POJCMS or AX^rX^NDIR FOPi 


Old Cotta sham’d his fortune and his birth, 

Vet was not Cotta \oid ai wit or worth 
'Wliat though (the use of bax bVous spits forgot) 

His kitchen \y’d m coolness with his grot'" 

His couit with nettles, moats with cresses stor’d, 
"With soups unbought and sallads bless’d his hoard ^ 
If Cotta liv ed on pulse, it w as no moi e 
Xhan Biamins, Saints, and Sages did before, 

Xo cram the Rich was prodigal expense. 

And who would take the Poor from Providence ^ 
Like some lone Chartreux stands the good old Hall, 
Silence w'lthout, and Basts within the wall. 

No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabor sound. 

No noontxde~bell invites the country round 
Xenants with sighs the smokeless tow^'rs survey. 
And turn th' unwilling steeds another way 
Benighted wanderers, the forest o'er. 

Curse the sav'd candle, and unop'ning door. 

While the gaunt mastiff gi owhng at the gate. 
Affrights the beggar whom he longs to eat 
Not so his Son, he mark'd this oversight. 

And then mistook reverse of wrong for right 
(For what to shun will no great knowledge need. 
But what to follow, is a task indeed ) 

Yet sure, of qualities deserving praise. 

More go to rum Fortunes, than to raise 

What slaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine, 

Fill the capacious 'Squire, and deep Divine* 

Yet no mean motive this profusion draws. 

His oxen perish in his country's cause , 

'Xis Georoe and Liberty that crowns the cup. 

And Zeal for that great House winch eats him up 
Xhe Woods recede around the naked seat, 

Xhe Sylvans groan — no matter — for the Fleet , 

IBS 



\f O H A I I S S V \ S 


Next goes liis Wool - to i.lothe oui valiant baiids^, 
Last, toi Ins Country's love, he nlIL Ius Lands 
'lo town he couils^ completes the* nation's hope . 

And heads the bold T rain-bands, and bin ns a Pi>pe 
And sliall not Biitain now reward his toils, 

Britain, that pays her Patriots with liei Spoils 
In vain at Com t the Bankrupt pleads his cause , 

His thankless Counti} leaves him to hei Laws 
The Sense to value Riches, with the Ait 
T' enjoy them, and the Virtue to impart. 

Not meanlj^ nor ambitiously pursu'd. 

Not sunk by sloth, nor rais'd by seivitude 
To balance Fortune by a just expense. 

Join with luonomj. Magnificence , 

Whth Splendour, Chanty, with Plenty, Hcxdth, 

Oh teach us, Bathlkst^ yet unspoiFd i>y wealth* 
That secret rare, between th' extieines to move 
Of mad Good-nature and of mean Self-love 

B To Worth or 'Want well-vveigh'd, be Bounty 
giv 'n. 

And ease, or emulate, the care of Heav'n , 

(Whose measure full o'erflows on human race) 

Mend Fortune's fault, and justify her grace 
Wealth m the gross is death, but life, diffus'd. 

As Poison heals, m just proportion us'd 
In heaps, like Ambergrise, a stink it lies. 

But well-dispers'd, is Incense to the Skies 

P Wlio starves by Nobles, or with Nobles eats^^ 
The Wretch that trusts them, and the Rogue that 
cheats 

Is there a Lord, who knows a chearful noon 
Without a Fiddler, Flatt'rer, or Buffoon 
Whose table. Wit, or modest Merit share, 
Unelbow'd by a Gamester, Pimp, or Play'r^ 

157 



POEMS OI’ ArJLXANDL-R POPE 


Who copies Yours, oi Oxford’s better part,^ 

To ease th' oppress’d, and laise tlie sinking hcait^ 
Where’er he shines. Oh Foitunc^ gild the scene. 

And Angels guard him m the golden Mean* 

There, Enghsli Bounty yet a-\\hile may stand. 

And Honour Imgei e'er it leaves the land 

But all our praises why should Lords engross ^ 
Rise, honest Muse^ and sing the Man of Ross ^ 
Pleas’d Vaga echoes through hei winding bounds. 
And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds 
Who hung with woods yon mountain’s sultry brow 
From the dry rock who bade the waters flow ? 

Not to the skies m useless columns tost, 

Or in proud falls magnificently lost. 

But clear and artless, pouring through the plain 
Health to the sick, and solace to the swam 
Whose Causeway parts the vale with shady rows ^ 
Whose Seats the weary Traveller repose ^ 

Who taught that heav’n-directed spire to rise ^ 

'The Man of Ross’ each lisping babe replies 
Behold the Market-place with poor o’erspread ^ 

The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread , 

He feeds yon Alms-house, neat, but void of state. 
Where Age and Want sit smiling at the gate* 

Him portion’d maids, apprentic’d orphans blest, 

The young who labour, and the old who rest 

1 See p B<), n 1 

2 The person here celebrated, who with a small estate actually per- 
formed all these good works, and whose true name was almost lost 
(partly by the title of the Man of Ross, given him by way of 
eminence, and partly by being buried without so much as an iiv* 
senpuon), was called Mr John Kyrle He died m the year 17£4, 
aged SO, and lies interred m the chancel of the church of Ross, m 
Herefordshire P Kyrle executed his good works by raising sub- 
scriptions among his wealthy neighbours 

158 



% Y\ 


Is am sick^ the \f%\ of Ross lelnnes, 

PitNCiihes, attends, the intcrcine male s, nhl t^nes 
Is tlaite a \aruince'' enter but his door. 

Balk'd aie the Courts, and contest is no nioie 
Despairing Quacks with curses fled the place. 

And \ lie Attorneys, nusv a useless race 
B 1 hn<e happy rnan^ enabl'd to pursue 
What all so wish, hut want the powY to do^ 

Oh say, what sums that genYous hand supply? 

What mines, to swell that boundless thaun ? 

P Of Debts, and Faxes, Wife and Childien obar 
This man possest — five hundred pounds a yevu 
Blusli, Grandeur, blush* proud Couits, wndidraw your 
blaze * 

Ye little Stars* hide your dmiinish'd rays 

B And wliat? no monument, insciiption, stone? 
His race, his form, his name almost unknown ? 

P Who builds a Church to God, and not to Fame, 
Will never mark the marble with his Name 
Go, search it there, where to be bom and die. 

Of rich and poor makes all the history,^ 

Enough, that Virtue filPd the space betw^een, 

Prov'd, by the ends of being, to have been 
When Hopkins dies, a thousand hghts attend 
The wretch, who living sav'd a candle's end ® 

Should Ying God's altar a vile image stands. 

Belies his features, nay extends his hands , 

That live-long wig which Gorgon's self might own, 
Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone ^ 

1 • The Parish Register P 

£ ‘Vulture* Hopkins, see p IB% n 3 

3 The Poet ridicules the wretched taste of carving large periwigs on 
bustos, of which there are several vile examples m the tombs at 
Westminster and elsewhere P 

159 



POL MS OF AIlXVNfDLH FOPL 


Behold whdt blessings Wealth to life can lend^ 

And see, what conitort it afioids oui end 

In the woist innS woist looni, with mat halhhung# 
The floois ot pLustci, and the walls oi dung, 

On once a floek-bed, but repair’d with stiaw, 

With tape-ty*d eui tains, never meant to draw. 

The George and Garter dangling from that bed 
Where tawdry yellow stro\e with dirty red. 

Great Villiers^ lies — alas ^ how chang’d from turn. 
That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim ^ 

Gallant and gay, m Cliveden’s proud ale ove/^ 

The bow’r of wanton Shrewsbmy and love,® 

Or just as gay, at Council, in a ring 
Of minnck, Statesmen, and their merry King 
No Wit to flatter, left of all his stored 
No Fool to laugh at, which he valu’d more 
There, Victor of his health, of fortune, friends, 

And fame , this lord of useless thousands ends 
His Grace’s fate sage Cutler could foresee,^ 

And well (he thought) advis’d him, ""Live like me * 
As well his Grace reply 'd, Xike you. Sir Jolm ^ 

That I can do, w hen all I hav^e is gone ' 

1 This lord [[George Villiers, Duke ot Buckingham;], \et more 
famous for his vices than his misfortunes, hav ing been possessed 
of about X50,000 a year, and passing through min} of the 
highest posts m the kingdom, died m the year USB7, m a remote 
inn in Yorkshire, reduced to the utmost miser} P 
£ A delightful palace on the banks of the Thames, built by the Duke 
of Buckmgliam P 

S The Countess ot Shrewsbuiy, a woman abandoned to gallantries 
The Earl, her husband, was killed b} the Duke of Buckingham in 
a duel, and it has been said, that during the combat she held the 
Duke's horses, in the habit of a page P 
4f Sir John Cutler ( 160S ^"-93) , personally parsimonious, yet a public 
benefactor 


160 



Man M ESS\YS 


Resolve me. Reason, whicli of these uorse. 

Want \\ith a full, oi with an eoiptj purser 
T.hy life more wretclnd. Cutler, was iontess'd. 

Arise, and tell nie, was thj death inoie blcss'd^ 
Cutlci saw tenants break, and houses fail, 

Foi \cry want, he tould not build a wall 
His only daug;hter in a strangei S pow V, 
hor \er\ want, he could not pay a dowY 
A few grey liaus his re\hend temples crown'd, 

'Twas \ery want that sold them for two pound 
What e\ Y denj'd a coidial at his end, 

BanisIFd the doctor, and expcll'd the fiiend*^ 

Wliat but a want, which you peihaps think mad, 

Yet numbers feci, the want oi what he had^ 

Cutler and Brutus, dying both exclaim, 

* Virtue^ and Wealth^ what aie ye but a name^^ 

Say, for such worth are other wwlds prepar'd^ 

Or are they both, m this their own reward^ 

A knotty point ^ to whic'h we now proceed 
But you are tir'd — Til tell a tale — 

B Agreed 

P Where London's column^ pointing at the skies 
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies , 

There dwelt a Citizen of sober fame, 

A plain good man, and Balaam w^as his name. 
Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth. 

His w^ord w^ould pass for more than he was worth 
One solid dish his week-day meal affords. 

An added pudding solemnis'd the Lord's 
Constant at Church, and 'Change, his gams were 
sure, 

His gw mgs rare, save farthings to the poor 

1 The Monument, built in memory of the fire of London, with an 
inscription importing that city to have been burnt by the Papists P 

161 



P O M £> OF A 1 1 \ \ N O r n P i> P I 


The Dev "'I \sas piqu'd such saiiitship to behold. 
And long'd to tempt him like good Job of old 
But Satan now wisei than ot yore. 

And tempts by making rxcii, not making pool 

Rouz'd by the Pi nice ot An, the whirlwinds sweep 
Xhe suige, and plunge his Father m the deep, 

Xhen full against his Cornish lands they roar. 

And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore 
Sir Balaam now% he lives like other folks. 

He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes 
Xive like yourself/ was soon in\ Fady's word. 

And, lo * two puddings smok'd upon the board 
Asleep and naked as an Indian lay. 

An honest factor stole a Gem aw^ay 

He pledg'd it to the Knight, the Knight had wit. 

So kept the Di'mond, and the rogue was bit 
Some scruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought, 

'I'll now give six-pence where I gave a groat. 
Where once I went to church. I'll now go twice — 
And am so clear too of all other vice ' 

Xhe Xempter saw his time, the work he ply'd. 
Stocks and Subscriptions pour on ev 'ry side, 

Xill all the Demon makes his full descent 
In one abundant show'r of Cent per Cent, 

Smks deep within him, and possesses whole, 

Xhen dubs Director, and secures his soul 
Behold Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit. 

Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit, 

"What late he call'd a Blessmg, now was "Wit, 

And God's good Providence, a lucky Hit 
Xhings change their titles, as our manners turn 
His Comptmg-house employ'd the Sunday-mom, 
Seldom at church ('twas such a busy life) 

But duly sent his family and wife 



M on \ I l SH \ \ 


llicre (hO the Do\'I oidain’cl j one Clin '^tnias-tide, 
42;t>od old Lady tat< h'd a cold, and d\*d 
\ N^oiph ol Quality admires our Kni|^ht, 

He marncs, bows at Court, and ^tuws pohtt 
IaLM\es tlie diili Chts, and |oms (to please the fan ) 
The wclLbtcd cuckolds in St lainesN an 
First, tor lus Son a t^ay C’oininission hu^s. 

Who drinks, wlinicb, flights, and m a duel dies 
His JDaughtei flaunts a Viscount’s tawdry wife. 
She bears a Coronet and P - x for life 
In Britain’s Senate he a scat obtains. 

And one more Fensionei St Stephen gams 
My Lady falls to play , so had her chance. 

He must lepair it, takes a bribe from France, 

The House impeach him, Coningsby harangues,^ 
The Court forsake him - and Sir Balaam hangs 
Wife, son, and daughter, Satan ^ are thy own, 

His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the Crown 
The Devil and the King divide the Prize, 

And sad Sir Balaam curses God, and dies 


EPISTLE IV 

TO RICHARD BOYir, Jb\RC OF BURLINGTOM^ 

Of the Use of riches 

*Tis strange, the Miser should his Cares employ 
To gain those Riches he can ne'er enjoy 

1 Thomas, Earl of Comngsby ( 165GF-1729}, ^ M P and notable 
pohtiaan 

e, Richard Boyle, third Earl of Burlington ( 1695-1753) , statesman, 
patron of literature and art 


tes 



roiMS a i ALFXANDIR POPE 


Is It less stranjjfc, the Prodigal should waste 
His \vealth, to punliase what he ne'er can taste 
Not for hiinseli he sees, or Iieais, or eats, 

Artists must ihoose his l^ictures. Music, Meats; 

He buys foi Tophain, Drawings and Designs,^ 

For Penibiokc, Statues, duty Gods, and Coins 
Rare monkish Manuscripts for Hearne alone,^ 

And Books foi ?vlead, and Butterflies foi Sloane ^ 
Think we all these are tor himself'^ no more 
Than his fine Wife, alas^ or finer Whore 

For what has Virro painted, built, and planted^ 
Only to show , how nianv "I astes he w anted 
What brought Sir Visto s ili-got w^ealth to waste** 
Some Demon whisper'd, ‘Visto ^ have a taste ' 

Heav'n visits with a Taste the wealthy fool. 

And needs no Rod but Ripley with a Rule ^ 

See ^ sportive fate, to punish awkward pride, 

Bids Bubo build, and sends him such a Guide 
A standing sermon, at each year's expense. 

That never Coxcomb reach'd Magnificence ^ 

You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse,^ 
And pompous buildings once were things of Use 

1 A gentleman famous for a judicious collection of drawings P 

S Thomas Herbert, eighth Earl of Pembroke (ie56— 173S), states- 
man 

5 Thomas Hearne ( 1678—1735) , antiquary 

4 Two eminent physicians , the one had an excellent library, the other 
the finest collection m Europe of natural curiosities , both men of 
great learning and humanity P 

6 This man was a carpenter, employed by a first Minister, who 
raised him to be an Architect, without any genius m the art* and 
after some wretched proofs of his insufficiency in public buildings 
made him Comptroller of the Board of Worlts P 

6 The Earl of Burlington was then publishing the Designs of Imgo 
Jones, and the Antiquities of Rome by Palladio P 

164 



Mon \i f s s V ^ s 


Yet shall (mv Lotd) vour ]UNt, \oui nuble lules, 

Fill half the Lind with Iniitatinjj^-Iniols , 

Wlio landoni diawinj^s fioni jout sheets shall take* 
4.nd of one bcautj many blundei s make, 

Ia>ad some \am CImrch with old Theatric state. 

Turn Arcs of tiiumph to a Oardcn-gate, 

Res erse youi Oi naments , and hang tlieiii all 
On some pateli'd dog-*holc ek*d with ends of wail. 
Then clap four slices of Pilaster on 't. 

That, lacM with bits of rustic, makes a Front 
Shall call the winds thiough long arcades to xoar. 
Proud to catdi cold at a Venetian door. 

Conscious they act a tiue Palladian part. 

And it they starve, they starve by rules of ait 
Oft have you hinted to your brother Peer, 

A ceitain truth, whicii many buy too dear 
Something there is more needful than Expense, 

And something previous cv'n to Taste — 'tis Sense 
Good Sense, which only is the gift of Heav'n, 

And though no Science, fairly worth the seven 
A Light, winch m yourself you must perceive, 

Jones and Le N6tie have it not to give ^ 

To build, to plant, wliatever you intend. 

To rear the Column, or the Arch to bend. 

To swell the Terrace, or to sink the Grot, 

In all, let Nature never be forgot 
But treat the Goddess like a modest fair. 

Nor over-dress, nor leave her wholly bare. 

Let not each beauty evTy where be spy'd. 

Where half the skill is decently to hide 
He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds. 
Surprises, varies, and conceals the Bounds 

1 Inigo Jones, the celebrated architect, and M le N6tre, the de- 
signer of the best gardens m France P 

165 



POl MS Ol A r X. \ A N D r R POP! 


Consult the Gtnius <>i the l^lare in all, 

That tills till Wateis oi to nsi , or tali. 

Or helps th' ambitious Hill the heavhis to scale, 

Or scoops m cm ling theatres the Vale, 

Calls m the Country, eatche*s opening Glades, 

Joins willing Woods, and vanes Shades tiom Shades, 
Now breaks, or now directs, th" intending Lines, 
Paints as you plant, and, as you woik, designs 
Still follow Sense, of ev'ry art the soul. 

Parts answVing parts shall slide into a wdiole. 
Spontaneous beauties all around advance. 

Start evhi from Difficulty, strike from Chance, 
Nature shall join you , Time shall make it grow 
A Work to wonder at — perhaps a Stowe ^ 

Without it, proud Versailles ^ thy glory falls, 

And Nero's Terraces desert their walls 

The vast Parterres a thousand hands shall make, 

Lo^ Cobh AM comes, and floats them with a Lake 
Or cut wide views through Mountains to the Plain, 
You'll wish your hill or shelter'd seat again 
Ev'n m an ornament its place lemark, 

Nor in an Hermitage set Dr Clarke ^ 

Behold Villario's ten-years toil complete. 

His Quincunx darkens, his Espaliers meet. 

The Wood supports the Plain, the parts unite. 

And strength of Shade contends with strength of 
Light, 

A waving Glow the blooming beds display. 

Blushing m bright diversities of day, 

1 The seat and gardens of Lord Viscount Cobham, in Buckingham- 
shire P 

£ Dr S Clarke’s bust was placed by the Queen m the Hermitage, 
while the doctor duly frequented the Court P Samuel Clarke 
( 1675-1 7£9) , theologian 


me 



MOKAl ISSA\S 


With siKer-<|ui\ ’rin|2: in<\inder<l o*vr — 

Enjo} them, you^ Villano can no inoie. 

Tired ol the siene Partcires and Fountains yield. 

He finds at last, he bettei likes a Field 

Through his 3’oung Woods how pleased Sabinus 
straj’d, ^ 

Or sat delighted m the thu khimg shade, 

With annual joy the led'nmg shoots to greet. 

Or see the stretching branches long to meet^ 

His Son\ fine Taste an opener Vista lo\es. 

Foe to the Dryads of his FatheFs groves. 

One boundless Green, or flourish'd Carpet views. 
With all the mournful family of Yews, 

The thriving plants, ignoble broomsticks made, 

Now sweep those Alleys they were bom to shade 
At Timon's Villa^ let us pass a daj. 

Where all ciy out, *What sums arc thrown away*' 

So proud, so grand, of that stupendous air. 

Soft and Agreeable come never there 
Greatness, with Timon, dwells m such a di aught 
As brings all Brobdignag before your thought 
To compass this, his building is a Town, 

His pond an Ocean, his parterre a Down 
Who but must laugh, the Master when he sees, 

A puny insect, shivYing at a breeze* 

Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around ? 

The whole, a labour'd Quarry above ground 
Two Cupids squirt before a Lake behind 
Improves the keenness of the Northern wmd 
His Gardens next your admiration call. 

On ev Vy side you look, behold the Wall * 

I. This was accepted as a desoaption of the Duke of Chandos's seat 
at Canons See p ISl, n 1 


167 



POEMS or AIIXWDIR F(>Pn 


No pleasing Intiicacies mtei'vene. 

No artful wildness to perplex the scene, 

Gia\e nods at grove, cac^h Alley has a hi other. 

And half the platform just i effects the othei 
The sutfVmg ej^c inverted Nature sees. 

Trees cut to Statues, Statues thick as trees. 

With here a Fountain, never to be play’d. 

And there a Summer-house, that knows no shade. 
Here Amphitrite sails through myrtle bow'rs, 

There Gladiators fight, or die m flow Vs, 

Unwater^d see the drooping sea-horse mourn. 

And swallows roost m Nilus' dusty Urn 
My Lord advances with majestic mien, 

Smit with the mighty pleasure, to be seen 
But soft — by regular approach — not yet — 

First thro' the length of yon hot Terrace sweat, 

And when up ten steep slopes you\e drag'd your 
thighs. 

Just at his Study-door he'll bless your eyes 
His Study ^ with what Authors is it stor'd?^ 

In Books, not Authors, curious is my Lord , 

To all their dated backs he turns you round. 

These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound ^ 

Lo some are Vellum, and the rest as good 
For all his Lordship knows, but they are Wood 
For Locke or Milton 'tis m vam to look. 

These shelves admit not any modem Book 
And now the Chapel's silver bell you hear. 

That summons you to all the Pride of Pray'r 

1 The false taste in books , a satire on the vanity of collecting them, 
more frequent m men of fortune than the study to understand 
them Many delight chiefly in the elegance of the print or binding, 
some have carried it so far as to cause the upper shelves to be filled 
with painted books of wood JR 

IBS 



MOKAL I SSAYS 


Light quirks of Music, broken and une\en. 

Make the soul dance upon a Jig to Heaven 
On painted cielmgs you devoutlj^ stare. 

Where sprawl the Saints of Veino or Laguerre/ 

On gilded clouds in fair expansion he, 

And bring all Paradise liefore yoya* eye 
To rest, the Cushion and soil Dean in\ ite. 

Who never mentions Hell to eais polite 

But hark^ the chiming Clocks to dinner call, 

A hundred footsteps scrape the marble Hall 
The rich Buffet well-colour'd Serpents grate, 

And gaping Tritons spew to wash ;^our lace 
Is this a dinner? this a Genial room? 

No, ""tis a Temple, and a Hecatomb 
A solemn Sacrifice, pei fornPd in state. 

You drink by measure, and to minutes eat 
So quirk retires each flying course, youM swear 
Sancho's dread Doctor and his Wand were there 
Between each Act the trembling saKers iing. 

From soup to sweet-wme, and God bless the King 
In plenty starving, tantaliz'd m state. 

And complaisantly help'd to all I hate. 

Treated, caress'd, and tir'd, I take my leave. 

Sick of his civil Pride from Mom to Eve , 

I curse such lavish cost, and little skill, 

And swear no Day was ever past so ill 

Yet hence the Poor are cloath'd, the Hungry fed. 
Health to himself, and to his Infants bread 
The LabTer bears What his hard Heart denies. 

His charitable Vanity supplies 


1 Verno (Antonio) painted many cielmgs, etc , at Windsor, Hamp- 
ton Court, etc , and Laguerre at Blenlieim Castle and other 
places P 


169 



r on MS or all \ \ n d i-. r p o p r 


Another iVge shall see the ij^oldcn Ear 
IiTibrown the Slope, and nod on the Parterre, 

Deep Hai vests bury all his pride has planned, 

And laughing Ceres le-assume the land 

Who then shall giace, oi who improve the Soil ^ 
Who plants like Bvihlrst, oi who builds like Boyle 
'Tis Use alone that sanctifies Expense, 

Aiid Splendoui borrows all her rays from Sense. 

His Father^s Acres who enjoys in peace. 

Or makes his Neighbours glad, if he increase 
Whose chearful Tenants bless their yeai ly toil. 

Yet to their Lord owe more than to the soil. 

Whose ample Lawns are not asham'd to feed 
The milky heifer, and deserving steed , 

Whose rising Forests, not for pride or show. 

But future Buildings, future Navies, grow 
Let his plantations stretch from down to down. 

First shade a Country, and then raise a Town 
You too proceed ^ make falling Arts your care. 
Erect new wonders, and the old repair, 

Jones and Palladio to themselves restore, 

Amd be whatever Vitruvius was before ^ 

Till Kings call forth th’' Ideas of your mind, 

(Proud to accomplish what such hands design^) 

Bid Harbours open, public Ways extend. 

Bid Temples, worthier of the God, ascend. 

Bid the broad Arch the dangTous Flood contain. 
The Mole projected break the roarmg Main, 

Back to his bounds their subject Sea command. 

And roll obedient Rivers through the Land , 

These Honours, Peace to happy Britain brings, 
These are Imperial W^orks, and worthy Kings. 

1. M Vitruvius Poliio (BO b c ) who wrote on architecture 

170 







EPISILL lO DH AHBllIINOr 
BiiSb nn PhoiDcii lo ini s\iiKis 

P SjiLi, shut th( door, good lohn’^ fatigu’d I 
said, 

lye up the knocker, say Fni sick, I in dead 
The Dog-star rages* na\, lis past a doubt, 

All Bedlam, oi Fainassus, is let out 
Pire m each e^e, and papeis in each hand, 

They rave, recite, and madden round the land 

What walls can guard nu\ oi what shade s c an hide ^ 
They pierce m\ IhicKets, thiough 1113 Grot they glide. 
By Dnd, by water, they lencw the charges 
They stop the chanot, and they board the barge 
No place is sacied, not the Chuich is tree, 

E\ hi Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me 
Then from the Mint^ walks forth the Man of rhynae, 
Happy * to catc h me, just at Dinner-tinie 
Is there a Parson, much be-inus’d in iieei , 

A maudlin Poetess, a ihyming Peer, 

A Clerk, foredoom’d his father’s soul to cross, 

Who pens a Stanza, when he should engross ^ 

Is there, who, lock’d from ink and paper, scrawls 
With desp'rate charcoal round his daiken’d walls? 
All fly to Twm ’nam, and in humble strain 
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain 
Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws. 

Imputes to me and my damn’d works the cause. 
Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope. 

And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope 

1 John Searle, Pope’s servant 

2 A sanctuary for insolvent debtors in Southwark 

171 



POEMS or AlCX^N'DER POPE 


Friend to my life^ (which did not 3^ou prolong, 

Xhe world had wanted nian3 an idle song) 

What L>/o/> or JiVost/um can this plague remove 
Or which must end me, a Foors wrath or lo\e ^ 

A dire dilemma ? either way Fm sped. 

If foes, they write, if friends, they read rne dead 
Seized and tyM down to judge, how wretched I ^ 

Who can^t be silent, and who will not lie 
Xo laugh, were want of goodness and of grace. 

And to be grave, exceeds all Pow"r of face 

I sit with sad civility, I read 

W^ith honest anguish, and an aching head. 

And drop at last, but m unwilling ears. 

This saving counsel, ""Keep your piece nine years ' 
*Nme years cries he, who high in Drury-lane, 
Luird by soft Zephyrs through the broken pane. 
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends, 
ObligM by hunger, and request of friends 
'The piece, you think, is incorrect why take it, 

I'm all submission, what you'd have it, make it ' 
Three things another's modest wishes bound, 

My Friendship, and a Prologue, and ten pound 
Pitholeon^ sends to me 'You know his Grace, 

I want a Patron, ask him for a Place ' 

Pitholeon libelFd me — 'But here's a letter 
Informs you. Sir, 'twas when he knew no better 
Dare you refuse him ^ Curl invites to dine,^ 

He'll write a Journal^ or he'll turn Divine ' 

Bless me! a packet — "Tis a stranger sues, 

A Virgm Tragedy, an Orphan Muse ' 

J, The name taken from a foolish poet of Rhodes, who pretended 
much to Greek jP 

£ Edmund Curli (16^5— 1747), a notorious bookseller and an 
enemy of Pope’s 


17 £ 



rPlSllK lO OH AHB0TIINOT 


If I di'^hke ity 'Furies, deatli and rag-e^^ 

If I appxo\e, 'Commend it to the Stage ' 

"I here (tlianK nn stais) my \^hole cx>mmission ends, 
Xhe Play is and I are, luckily, no friends 
F"*ir^d tlsat the house ie]ect him, '"'Sdeatli^ PlI prmt it. 
And shame the fools — Your mtYest, Sir, with 
hintot 

Lintot, dull rogue ^ will think jour price too much 
'Not, Sir, if you revise it, and retouch * 

All my demurs hut double bis attacks. 

At last he whi&jfers, *Do, and we go snacks ^ 

Glad of a quarrel, straiglit I < lap the door. 

Sir, let me see your works and you no more* 

^Xis sung, when Midas'^ Kars began to spring 
(Midas, a sacred person and a King), 

His very Minister who spy d them first, 

(Some say his Queen) was forc'd to speak, or burst* 
And IS not mine, my friend, a sorer case. 

When ev'ry coxcomb perks them m my face ^ 

A Good friend, forbear^ you deal m dang'rous 
things 

I'd never name Queens, Ministers, or Kings, 

Keep close to Ears, and those let asses prick, 

*Xis nothing 

P Nothing ^ if they bite and kick ^ 

Out with It, I>uKCiAi>i let the secret pass, 

Xhat secret to each fool, that he's an Ass* 

Xhe truth once told (and wherefore should we he ^) 
Xhe Queen of Midas slept, and so may I. 

You think this cruel ? take it for a rule. 

No creature smarts so little as a fooh 

Let peals of laughter, Codrus * round thee break, 

Xhou unconcem'd canst hear the mighty crack* 

1 A contemporary bookseller 
ITS 



For: MS OF \LJLX\NDER POP I 


Pits box, and gall in comulsions hurrd, 

Xhou stand st vinshook amidst a bin sting woild 
Who shames a Sctihbkr'' break one cobweb tlno% 

He spins the slight, sclf-pl easing thiead anew 
Destro}^ his fib, or sophistiy, in vain, 

Xhe cieature’s at his dirty work again, 

Xhron'd in the centre of his thin designs, 

Proud ol a vast extent of flimsy lines ^ 

Whom have I liurt^ has Poet >et, or Feci, 

Lost the archM eye~biow, or Parnassian sneer ^ 

And has not Colley still his lor®, and wliore . 

His butchers, Henley,^ lus free-masons, Moore 
Does not one table Bavius still admit ^ 

Still to one Bishop, Philips seem a w it 
Still Sappho 

A Hold^ for God-sake — you'll offend. 

No Names — be calm — learn prudence of a friend 
I too could wiite, and I am twice as tall. 

But foes like these — — - 

P One FlattVer^'s woi se than all 

Of all mad creatures, if the learn'd are right. 

It is the slaver kills, and not the bite 

A fool quite angry is quite innocent 

Alas ^ 'tis ten times worse when they repent 

One dedicates in high heroic prose. 

And ridicules beyond a hundred foes 

One from all Grubstreet w^ill my fame defend. 

And more abusive, calls himself my friend 
Xhis prints my Letters^ that expects a bribe. 

And others roar aloud, 'Subscribe, subscribe 

1 Colley Cibber (1671— 1757), actor, dramatist, and poet laureate 

9 John Henley ( 1692—1766) , popular preacher and orator 

3 James Moore Smyth (1702-34) , a poor poet and enemy of Pope. 

4 Ambrose Philips (1675— 1749), a fine poet, was secretary to the 
Bishop of Armagh 


174 ? 



11‘isrii io'dk \KBLrfjNor 


''Ihcie ajc, \\1 b> to ni'v pcisoii pa;^ their com t 
I cough hhe Horaa ^ and, the' lean, ani shoit, 
Atnrnon^^ gi eat sou one shoulder had too high, 

Sueli Ovid\ nosf , and, *Sii ^ jou ha\t an Ejt ' >- 
Go on, <d>liging cieatun^s, make ok see, 
x\li that disgiac d my Betters, met in me 
Say foi ni3^ conitot t, languishing in ht‘d, 

^lust so imnioi tal Mafo held his lu ad * 

And when I die, be sine 3011 let Tn< know 
Great Homer dn^d thiee thousand 3 cars ago 
\Vh\ did I write*^ what sin to me unknown 
Dipt me in ink, patents', or iny own^ 

As jet a < hild, nor jet a fool to fame, 

I lisp'd in nutnhers, fot the numbers lame 
I left no calling for this idle tiade, 

Vo dutj broke, no father disohej'd 
The Muse but starv'd to ease some hiend, not 
\\ ife, 

X<> help me thtough this long dise*ase, m> lafe. 

To second, Arbi thnot^ thy Ait and Care, 

And teach the Being you prcsereVl, to bear 
But whj^ then publish Otantnlle^ the polite 
And knowing TV^alshd' would tell me I could write, 
Well-natur'd Oarth inflam'd with earlj’^ praise. 

And Congrei^e lo\ 'd, and Svoift endur'd my lays , 

The courtly Talbot^ Somers ^ Sheffield lead, 

Ev'n mitred Rot /tester would nod the head. 

And St Johfis self (great JArydens friends 
befoi e ) ^ 

With open arms receiv'^d one Poet more 
Happy my studies, when by these approv'd ^ 

Happie^r their author, when by these belov'd^ 

I Alexander the Great S See p 2, n 3 3 See p lO, n 1 

4 All these were patrons or admirers of Mr Oryden JP 

175 



P O r M S or A 1 L X A N D L i{ POPE 


From these the world will fudge of men and hooks. 
Not from the Burriets^ Oldmiron^, and Cook^ t 
Soft were my numbers , who could take offence 
While pine Oescuption held the place of Sense ^ 

Like gentle Fanny*s was m3*' fiovvYy theme, 

A painted rmstiess, or a puiling stream 
Yet then did GildoTt^ drsiw his venal quill, 

I wishM the man a Dinner, and sat still 
Yet then did Dennzs rave in furious fret,^ 

I never answer'd — I was not m debt 

If want provok'd, or madness made them print, 

I wag'd no war with Bedlam or the Mint 
Did some more sober Critic come abroad , 

If wrong, I smil'd, if right, I kiss'd the rod 
Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence. 

And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense 
Commas and points they set exactly right. 

And 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite 
Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel grac'd these ribalds, 
From slashing Bentley down to piddling 'Ttbbalds ^ 
Each wight who reads not, and but scans and spells. 
Each Word-catcher, that lives on syllables, 

Ev'n such small Critics some regard may claim. 
Preserved in Miltords or in Shakespeare's name 
Pretty ^ in amber to observe the forms 
Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms ^ 

The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare. 

But wonder how the devil they got there. 

1 Authors of secret and scandalous history B 
£ Charles Gildon ( 1^65—1 7S4?) , author, and detractor o* Pope 
S John Dermis ( 1657— 17S4) , critic and dramatist 
4 Richard Bentley ( 1662-1 74£) , the great scholar, published a bad 
edition of Milton Lewis Theobald ( 16SS-1744) , scholar, edited 
Shakespeare and criticised Pope’s edition that appeared in 1725 

lie 



IlMSriI lO r>H AHBLIHXOl 


Were othcns angiy I excus'd them too; 

\\ ell inijxht tlun I them but their due 

A Ilian's true nu*i it 'tfs not haid to find. 

But each man's secret standaid in his nnnd, 

That C'astinji^-weij^ht pndc adds to emptiness, 

T; his, who can g;ratit\ ^ foi wlio can ^ 

ILhe l^aid whom jnlitr'd Pastorals renown* 

W^ho turns a Peisian tale for half a Crown, 

Just writes to make ins bairenncss appear* 

And strains, fiom haid-bound brains* eigf^it lines a 
year , 

He* who still wanting, tho' he h\es on theft* 

Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left 
And He, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning. 
Means not, but blunders round about a meaning 
And He, wdiose fustian's so sublime!}, had. 

It IS not I^oetry, but prose lun nuid 

All these, my modest Satne l>ade translaU^ 

And own'd that nine such Poets made a Tate ^ 

How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe ^ 
And swear, not Addison^ himself was sate 

Peace to all such* but were there One whose fires 
Xrue Genius kindles, and fair Fame inspires. 

Blest with each talent and each art to please. 

And bom to write, converse, and live with ease 
Should such a man, too fond to nile alone. 

Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne. 
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes. 

And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise, 

I>amn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 

And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer. 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 

Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike, 

1 Nahum Tate (I6^e«*17l5) , a dull poet £ See p 99, n I 

177 



POFMS Ol AJLEX\NrX>LR POPE 


Alike reset v’d to blame, or to commend, 

A txm'rous ioe, and a suspu lous iiieiid. 

Dreading ev"n fools, by blatteieis besieged. 

And so obliging, that he ne'^er oblig'd. 

Like Cato, give his little Senate law s, 

And sit attenti\e to his own applause, 

Willie Wits and Templars ev'rj sentence raisv , 

And wonder with a foolish face of piaise — 

Who but must laugh, if such a man thei e be ^ 

Who would not weep, if Ai xicus weie he ^ 

W^hat tho' iny Name stood lubric on the walls. 

Or plaister'd posts, veith claps, in capitals 
Or smoking forth, a bundled hawkeis load. 

On wings of winds came flymg all abi oad ^ 

I sought no homage from the Race that wiite, 

I kept, like Asian Monarchs, from their sight 
Poems I heeded (now be-rhyrn'd so long) 

No more than thou, great George ^ a birthday song ^ 
I ne*er with wits or witlings pass’d my days. 

To spread about the itch of verse and praise. 

Nor like a puppy, daggled through the town. 

To fetch and carry sing-song up and dowm. 

Nor at Rehearsals sweat, and mouth’d, and cry’d. 
With handkerchief and orange at my side. 

But sick of fops, and poetry, and prate. 

To Bufo left the whole Castalian state 
Proud as Apollo on his forked hill. 

Sat full-blown Biifo, puff’d by ev’ry quill , 

Fed with soft Dedication all day long, 

Horace and he went hand in hand in song 
His Library (w^here busts of Poets dead 
And a true Pindar stood without a head) 

1 Booksellers advertised their books by banging up the title-pages. 

2 q he laureate addressed a poem to the king on his birthday 

178 



I* I* I S X 1 1 "1 X> D H A B B r r H N o r 


Rc't ei\ \1 ot wits an nndisting;uish"'tl ra<e. 

Who ills! lus jiKJt!;nK lit ask<I, anti tlit^n a place 
\liu Ii thi\ ^.Moird hi^ puitijcs, luui h his seat, 

\nd e\ h v da\, and soin<^* days cat 

Till grown nu>re iiui^al in his ri]>er <l*i\ s^ 

He paid some liaids with pox t, and some with praise. 
To some a dr\ ichcMxsal was assign'd. 

And othcis (hartler still) he pan! in kind 
Dryilen alone (what wonder '') came not nigh, 

L>f\tien alone escap'd this judging < ve 
But stiU the Crreat ha^e kindness in ieser\e. 

He help'd to bury whom he hc^lp'd tt> stai % e 

Afay some choice pation bless each gray-goose 
CiUlll * 

Ivlay c\eiy Bavzu^ ha\e his liufo still ^ 

So when a Statesman wants a day’s detence. 

Or En\y holds a \%diolc week's wai witli Sense, 

Or simple pride fox Hatt'iy makes dennaiKis, 

Ivlaj^ dun< e by chine c be whistled oh my hands* 
Bless'd be the Gteat^ foi those thc^y take away. 

And those they left me, tor they left me Ct 
L ett me to sec neglected Oemus blocjini, 

Neglec ted die, and tell it on his tomb 
Of all thy blameless life, the sole return 
JVTy Verse, and QucENSBhr^^ weeping o'er thy urn* 
Oh let me live my own, and die so too ^ 

(To li\e and die is all I have to do ) 

Maintain a Poet's dignity and ease. 

And see w^hat friends, and read what books I please 
Above a Patron, tho' I condescend 
Sometimes to call a Minister my friend 
I was not born lor Courts or great aftairs , 

I pay my debts, believe, and say my pray'rs, 

1, See p 85, n 1 i2 See p 145, n 1 


179 



poiNfs at al.i:xvnd>i:r popjc 

Can sleep \\ ilhout a Poem in inv head, 

ISJoi know if be ali\ o oi dead 

Why am I ask'd what next shall see the light ^ 
Heavhis^ was 1 bom for nothing but to write ^ 
Has Life no joys for me ^ or (to be grave) 

Have I no friend to serve, no soul to save ^ 

""I found liiin close with Swift^ — Indeed^ no 
doubt 

(Cries prating JBalbus) something will come 
out ' 

"'T'lS all m vain, deny it as I will 
"No, such a Genius never can lie still,"' 

And then for mine obligingly mistakes 
The first lampoon Sir fPtll ar jB?^o makes 
Poor guiltless I ^ and can I choose but smile. 
When ev'ry Coxcomb knows me by my Siyie^ 
Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow , 
That tends to make one worthy man my foe. 
Give Virtue scandal. Innocence a fear. 

Or from the soft-ey'^d Virgin steal a tear^ 

But he who hurts a harmless neighbour'^s peace^ 
Insults fallen worth, or Beauty in distress, 

^Vho loves a Lie, lame Slander helps about, 

'Who writes a Libel, or who copies out 
That Fop, whose pride affects a patron's name. 
Yet, absent, wounds an author's honest fame 
Who can yotcr merit seyishly approve. 

And show the sense of it without the lave ^ 

Who has the vanity to call you friend. 

Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defends 
'Who tells whatever you think, whatever you say. 
And, if he lie not, must at least betray 

1 See p 17S, n S 


ISO 


9. See p n 9 



L,P!SI13 DE AKBrniNOT 


Who to tho IJean, and silver Ml can swear,^ 

And secs at i annons what was never there. 

Who leads, hut with a lust to misapply* 

Make Satne a Lampoon* and Fiction Lie, 

A lash like mine no honest man shall dread. 

But all such bahling; blockheads in his stead 
Let Sporus^ tremble-- — — 

A What** that thing of silk, 

Sportis^ that mere white curd of Ass's millf 
Satire ot Sense, alas^ can Spams fctl ^ 

Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheeP 

P A et let me flap this bug with gilded wings. 
This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings, 
W^'hose buzz the wittj^ and the fair annoys, 

Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys 
So well-bred spaniels civilly delight 
In mumbling of the game they dai e not bite 
Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, 

As shallow streams run dimpling all the way 
Whether m florid impotence he speaks. 

And, as the piompter breathes, the puppet squeaks, 
Or at the ear of familiar Toad ^ 

Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad. 

In puns or politics, or tales, or lies. 

Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies 
His wit all see-saw, between that and tkn^ 

Now high, now low, now master up, now miss. 

And he himself one vile Antithesis 

1 Meaning the man who would have the Duke of Chandos that Mr 
Pope meant him m those circumstances ridiculed in the Epistle 
on Taste P Timon^s Villa was interpreted to be the Duke of 
ClmndosS seat at Canons See p 167, n 1 

2 Sporus is John Lord Hervej (1096—1743), courtier, author, and 
scurrilous defamer of Pope 


181 



poEisfs or Airv^NTDra popf 


Amplabious thing ^ that, acting either part, 

Xhc trifling Iiead, or the coi i upted heart, 
hop at the toilet, flatther at the board, 

Now tups a Lad3^, and now struts a Lord 
lLve\ ternptei thus tlie Rabbins ha\e expiess^'d, 

A Chei ubS tace, a i eptile all the i est. 

Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust. 
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust 
Not Foi tune's woi shipper, nor Fashion's tool. 
Not Lucre's madman, nor Ambition’s tooh, 

Not proud, nor servile, be one Poet’s praise, 
Xhat, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly wa^s 
Xhat Klatt'ry, even to Kings, he lield a shame. 
And thought a Lie m verse or prose the same 
Xhat not in Fancy's maze he wander'd long. 

But stoop'd to Xiuth, and moializ'd his song 
Xhat not for Fame, but Virtue's better end. 

He stood the furious ice, the timid friend, 

Xhe damning critic, half-appi oving wit, 

Xhe coxcomb hit, or tearing to be hit. 

Laugh'd at the loss of fi lends he never had, 

Xhe dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad, 
Xhe distant threats of vengeance on his head, 

Xhe blow unfelt, the tear he never shed , 

Xhe tale revived, the lie so oft o'erthrown, 

Xh' imputed trash, and dulness not his own , 

Xhe morals blacken'd when the writings 'scape, 
Xhe libell'd person, and the pictur'd shape , 
Abuse, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spiead, 

A friend m exile, or a father, dead , 

Xhe whisper, that to greatness still too near. 
Perhaps yet vibrates on his Sov'RCiGsr's eai — 
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue ^ all tlie past 
For thee, fair Virtue ^ welcome ev'n the last^ 

1B2 



FIS I LI i «) UK MiHLTIINOr 


A But wlsy insult the puoi, aifiont the 
P A kna\ e% a knave, to nie, in ev iv stat( 

\hke mv sioui, it he succeed oi tail, 

Sporu^ at cuuit, or Japhet^ in a pul, 

A hiieliiig sciiliblei, or a hiiclint^ peei , 

I\ru|^ht ot the post coirupt, or of tfie shire, 

I! on a Filloiy, or near a Tin one. 

He gain his Pimec's eai, or lose his own. 

Yet soft nature, more a dupe than wit, 

Sappho can tell you how tins man was bit 
This dreaded Sathist Dennis^ will confess 
Foe to Ins pi ide, but h nend to his distress 
So humble, he has knocked at Tibbald*s^ door. 

Has drunk with Cibber A nay, has rhymed for Moor ^ 
Full ten years slandePd, did he once reply ^ 

Three thousand suns went down on fF'elsted^s lie ® 

To please his Mistress one aspers’d his life; 

He lash’d him not, but let het be his wnte 
Let Budgel charge low Grub^treet on his ciuiIlA 
And write whatever he pleas’d, except his Will, 

Let the two Curls^ of Town and Court abuse 
His father, mother, body, soul, and muse 
Yet why^ that Father held it tor a rule. 

It was a sm to call our neighbour tool 
That harmless Mother thought no wife a whore, 
Hear this, and spare his family, James Moore^"^ 
Unspotted names, and memorable long^ 

If there be force in Virtue, or m Song 

1 Seep lyj^n 4 See p 176, n S 3 See p 176, n 4 

4 Seep 174, n 1 5 Seep 171, n 3 

6 This man had the impudence to tell in print that Mr P had oo- 
casioned a JLady*s death P 

7 Budgel, in a weekly pamphlet called the Bee, bestowed much 
abuse on him P 

8 Fdimind C uill, the bookseller, see p n 2, and Lord llervey, 

the courtier, see p 181, n 2 9 See p 174, n 3 


<1 «■ »rt 



I> O I M S O I A I L X A N O E H F O F B 


Of gentle blood (part shed m Honour’s cause. 
While yet in liritain Honour had applause) 

Each parent sprung — 

A What fortune, pray — 

P Their own. 

And better got, than Resita* s from the throne 
Bom to no Pride, mlieriting no Strife, 

Nor marrying Discord m a noble wife. 

Stranger to civil and religious rage. 

The good man walked innoxious through his age 
No Courts he saw, no suits would ever try. 

Nor dar'd an Oath, nor hazarded a Lie 
Unlearned, he knew no schoolman's subtle art. 

No language but the language of the heart 
By Nature honest, by Experience wise. 

Healthy by temp 'ranee, and by exercise , 

His life, tho' long, to sickness past unlcnown. 

His death was instant, and without a groan, 

O grant me, thus to live, and thus to die^ 

Who sprung from Kings shall know less joy than I 
O Friend ^ may each domestic bliss be thme^ 

Be no unpleasing Melancholy mine 
Me, let the tender ofhee long engage. 

To rock the cradle of reposing Age, 

W^ith lenient arts extend a Mother's breath. 

Make Languor smile, and smooth the bed of Death, 
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye. 

And keep a while one parent from the sky ^ 

On cares like these, if length of days attend. 

May Heav'n, to bless those days, preserve my friend. 
Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene. 

And just as rich as when he serv'd a Queen ^ 

A* Whether that blessing be deny'd or giv'n. 
Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav*n 
1 Arbuthnot had been physician to Queen Anne 
1B4 



SATIRES AND EPISTLES OF HORACE 
IMITATED 

IHi. SlCONtO SAriHf Of S H L SECOND 
BOOK Of HOKACE 
ro MR BTlUfE^ 

W K A r, <ind how gjreat, the Virtue and the Art 
To live on little with a chcarful heart, 

(A doctrine i>age, but truly none of mine) 

Let’s talk, my friends, but talk before we dme , 

Not when a gilt Buffet’s reflected pride 
Turns you from sound Philosophy aside , 

Not when from plate to plate y^our eye-balls roll. 

And the brain dances to the mantling bowl 

Hear Bethei ’s Sermon, one not vei sed m schools, 
But strong m sense, and wise without the rules 
Go, work, hunt, exercise' (he thus began) 

Then scorn a homely dinner, if you can 

Your wine lock’d up, your Bu^er stroll’d abroad. 

Or fish deny 'd ( the river yet unthaw’d ) , 

If then plain bread and milk will do the feat. 

The pleasure lies in you, and not the meat 
Preach as I please, I doubt our curious men 
Will choose a pheasant still before a hen, 

Yet hens of Guinea full as gocxl I hold. 

Except you eat the feathers green and gold 
Of carps and mullets why prefer the great, 

(Tho’ cut m pieces ere my Lord can eat) 

Y et for small Turbots such esteem profess <* 

Because God made these large, the other less 
Oldfield,® with more than Harpy throat endu’d. 
Cries, ‘Send me, Gods' a whole Hog barbecu'd'’ 

1 Hugh Bethel (d 1748), one of Pope’s earliest friends 

2 A notable glutton who is supposed to have spent jgl,£iOO a year 
on good food. 


186 



roLMs or A.irxvNDiR popr 


Oh, blast It, South-winds’ till a stench exhale 
Rank as the i ipeness of a labbit's tail 
By what Ci itei ion do ye eat, d*ye thmk. 

If this IS priz'd for sweetness, that foi stink " 
yVhen the ta 'd glutton laboui s thi ough a ti cat. 

He finds no relish in the sweetest meat. 

He calls for something bitter, something sour. 

And the rich feast concludes extremely poor 
Cheap eggs, and herbs, and olives still we see. 
Thus much is left of old Simplicity’ 

The Robin-red-breast till of late had rest. 

And children sacred held a Martin's nest. 

Till Beccaficos^ sold so dev'lish dear 
To one that was, or would have been, a Peer 
Let me extol a Cat, on oysters fed. 

I'll have a party at the Bedford-head,^ 

Or ev'n to crack live Crawfish recommend, 

I'd never doubt at Court to make a friend 
'Tis yet m vaip, I own, to keep a pother 
About one vice, and fall into the other 
Between Excess and Famine lies a mean, 

Plam, but not sordid , tho' not splendid, clean 
Avidien, or his Wife (no matter which. 

For him you'll call a dog, and her a bitch) 

Sell their presented partridges, and fruits. 

And humbly live on rabbits and on roots 
One half-pint bottle serves them both to dme. 

And IS at once their vinegar and wine 
But on some lucky day (as when they found 
A lost Bank-bill, or heard their Son was drown'd) 
At such a feast, old vinegar to spare. 

Is what two souls so gen'rous cannot bear 

1 The Italian name for a small migratory bird 
A famous earing-house JP 
IBS 



IMIIAIIOHS Oh HOHACK 


Oil, tho* It Stink, they drop by drop impart. 

But sow so the cabbag;^ v\ ith a bounteous Iieart 
He luiows to li\e, who keeps the middle state. 

And neither kans on this side, noi on that, 

Noi stops, tor one had < orK, his butlei % pay* 

Swears, hkc' Alhutius, a good <i>ok awaj., 

Xor lets, like Nae\ius, e\h 3 > cri <>i pass, 

Xhc musty wine, foul cloth, or gieasy glass 

Now hear what hk ssings Xempcrance can bring 
(Thus said our Friend, and what he said I smg) 
First Health The stomach (crainrn'd i!c>m ev'^iy dish, 
V tomb of bcuTd and roast, and Hesh and fish, 

Wliere bik , and wind, and phlegm, and acid jar, 

\nd all the man xs one intestine wai ) 

Reineriibeis ott the School-boy's simple fare. 

The tcnip'rate sleeps, and spirits liglxt as air 

How pale each Woi shipful and KevVend guest 
Rise from a Clergy or a City feast * 

What life in all that ample bod> , say 
What heavenly particle inspires the clay ^ 

The Soul subsides, and wickedly me lines 
Xo seem but mortal, ev'n m sound jDi\ mes 

On morning wmgs how active springs the Mmd 
Xhat leaves the load of yesterday behind^ 

How easy ev'ry labour it pursues » 

How corning to the Poet ev'ry IVXuse^ 

Not but "we may exceed, some holy time. 

Or tir'd in search of Xruth, or search of Rhyme, 

111 health some just indulgence may engage. 

And more the sickness of long life. Old age , 

For fainting Age what cordial drop remains. 

If our intemperate Y outh the vessel drains ^ 

Our fathers prais'd rank Ven'son You suppose. 
Perhaps, young men ^ our fathers had no nose 

187 



POL MS or ^LEVANDLH POPI 


Not SO a Buck was then a week*s repast. 

And "'twas their point, I ween, to make it last. 

More pleas'd to keep it till their friends could <ome. 
Than eat the sweetest by themselves at home 
Why had not I m those good times niv birth. 

Ere coxcomb-pies or coxcombs were on earth ^ 
Unworthy he, the voice of Fame to hear — 

That sweetest music to an honest ear — 

(For, faith. Lord Fanny* you are m the wrong, 

The world's good word is better than a song,) 

Who has not learn'd, fresh sturgeon and ham-pie 
Are no rewards for want, and infamy * 

When Luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf. 

Curs'd by thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself, 

To friends, to fortune, to mankind a shame. 

Think how posterity will treat thy name , 

And buy a rope, that future times may tell 
Thou hast at least bestow'd one penny well 

'Right,' cries his Lordship, Tor a rogue in need 
To have a Taste is insolence mdeed 
In me 'tis noble, suits my birth and state, 

My wealth unwieldy, and my heap too great ' 

Then, like the Sun, let Bounty spread her ray. 

And shine that superfluity away 
Oh Impudence of wealth ^ with all thy store. 

How dar'st thou let one worthy man be poor ^ 

Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall ^ 
Make Quays, build Bridges, or repair Whitehall 
Or to thy Country let that heap be lent. 

As ^ o's^ was, but not at five per cent 

Who thmks that Fortune cannot change her mind. 
Prepares a dreadful jest for all mankmd 

1^ The Duchess of Marlborough was reported to lend money to the 
Government at a great interest* 

188 



JMIlAryONS OI HOHACK 


And \^ho stands safest^ tell me, is it he 
Xhat spreads and swells m pufF*d Prosperity, 

Or blest with little, whose preventing care 
In peace pros ides fit arms against a war ^ 

Thus Bi 1 HI 1 spoke, who alwaj s speaks his thought. 
And always thinks the very thing he ought 
His equal mind I copy what I can. 

And as I lo\e, would imitate the Man 
In South-Sea^ days not happier, when surmised 
The Lord of Thousands, than if now Excised ^ 

In forest planted by a father's liand. 

Than m five acres now of rented land 
Content with little, I can piddle here 
On brocoli and mutton, round the year. 

But ancient friends (tho' poor, or out of play) 

That touch my bell, I cannot turn away* 

'Tis true, no Turbots dignify my boards. 

But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords 
To Hounsiow-heath I point, and Bansted-down, 
Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my own 
From yon old walnut-tree a show'r shall fall, 

And grapes, long lingering on my only wall. 

And figs from standard and espalier jom , 

The I>ev'l is m you if you cannot dine 
Then cheerful healths (your Mistress shall have 
place) 

And, what's more rare, a Poet shall say Grace 
Fortune not much of humbling me can boast , 

Tho' double tax'd, how little have I lost ^ 

My Life's amusements have been just the same. 
Before and after Standing Armies came 
My lands are sold, my father's house is gone; 

I'll hire another's, is not that my own, 

1 See p 1S3, n Sw 

isa 



POEMS or ALEXANDER POPE 


And yours, my fnendi>^ through whose free-op'ning 
gate 

None conies too early, none departs too late, 

(For r, who hold sage Homei 's rule the best. 
Welcome the coming, speed the going guest) 

'l^ray Heaven it last^' (cries Swii i^) *as you go on, 

I wish to God this house had been your own 
Pity^ to build, without a son or wile 
Why’', youll enjoy it only^ all your life ^ 

Well, it the use be mine, can it concern one, 
Whethei the name belong to Pope or Vernon 
What^s Property^ dear Swift ^ You see it altei 
From yo\x to me, from me to Petei Walter,^ 

Or, m a mortgage, prove a Lawyer’s share. 

Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir, 

Or m pure equity (the case not clear) 

The Chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year 
At best, It tails to some ungracious son. 

Who cries, ‘My father’s damn'd, and all’s my own ' 
Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford, # 
Become the portion of a booby Lord , 

And Helmsley, once proud Buckingham's^ delight. 

Slides to a Scriv'ner or a city Knight 

Let lands and houses ha\e what Lords they will. 

Let Us be fix'd, and our own masters still 


i Seep 89, n e 


S See p 16 3, n 
190 


S See p IGO, n 1 



IMIFATfOKS Ol ilOH^Cr 


THl FiUSr <>r I I!L lias I 

BOOK Of liuli \i i 

UJ LORD BOLIN GERO !ti ^ 

Si John, whose Io\e indulg'd im la!)uiirs past. 
Matures 1113" present, and siull bound niy last ^ 

Why will 30U break the Sabbath of my days^ 

Now sick alike of Knvy and of i^raise 
Public too long, ah let me hide my Age^ 

See Modest Cibber^ now has left the Stage ^ 

Oui Generals now, 1 cur'd to their Estates, 

Hang then old Trophies o'ei the C^arden gates, 

In Life's cool Evening satiate oi Applause, 

Nor fond ol Ideedmg, e\*n in Bklnswick's cause 
A Voice there is, that whispers in m3’' ear, 

('Tis Reason* s \cjice, wIikIi sonietuncs one can hear) 
Triend Popel be prudent, let your Muse take Ineath, 
And ne\er gallop Pegasus to death. 

Lest, stit! and statel3, \oid oi file or torce, 

You limp, like Blackmore on a Lord Mayor's horse 
Farewell, then, Verse, and I^\c, and ev'r3 Toy, 
The Rhymes and Rattles of the Man or B03 , 

What nglit, what true, what fit we justly call. 

Let this be all my care - for this is All 
To lay this harvest up, and hoard witli haste 
What ev'ry day will want, and most, the last 

1 S( e p 1 in, n 1 <2 Sec p 171*, n 1 

3 l.he fame of this heavy poet, however problematical elsewhere, 
was universaU> received in the city of Loudon His versihcation is 
here e\aetl> desei lijcd, stiff, and not strong, stately and yet dull, 
like the sober and slow paced ammal generally eniplo^^ed to mount 
tlic Lord X layer and tiierefore here humorously opposed to 
Pegasus P 


19 i 



POI.MS OI AinXANDCR POFB 


But ask not, to what I>x tors I appl}^ 

Sworn to no Mastei, at no Sect am I 
As dri\cs the stoi m, at any door I knock 
And house with Montaigne now, oi now with Locke 
Sometimes a Patriot, active in debate. 

Mix with the W^orld, and battle for the State, 

Free as young Lytteltonp her Cause pursue, 

Still true to Yntue, and as warm as true 
Sometimes with Aristippus, or St Paul, 

Indulge my candor, and grow all to all. 

Back to my native Moderation slide. 

And win niy way by yielding to the tide 

Long, as to him who works for debt, the day. 
Long as the Night to her whose Lovers away. 

Long as the YearS dull circle seems to run, 

"When the brisk Minor pants for twenty-one 
So slow th' unprofitable moments roll. 

That lock up all the Functions of my soul. 

That keep me from myself, and still delay 
Life's instant business to a future day 
That task, which, as we follow, or despise, 

The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise 
Which done, the poorest can no wants endure. 

And which not done, the richest must be poor 
Late as it is, I put myself to school, 

And feel some comfort not to be a fool 
Weak though I am of limb, and short of sight. 

Far from a Lynx, and not a Giant quite. 

I'll do what Mead and Cheselden advise,^ 

To keep these limbs, and to preserve these eyes 
Not to go back, IS somewhat to advance. 

And men must walk at least before they dance 

1 George Lyttelton (1709—73) , poet and politi<-ian 

2 Two well-known contemporary physicians 

192 



tMI i \ f IONS Oi ffOKAC E 


Saj, doe& thy bUnxl rebel, thy bosain nio\e 
With wretclitd \\ Vue, oi as wretched Lo\e^ 

Know, there are Words and Spells which can 
control 

Between the Fits this bevei oi the Soul 
Know, tliere are Rh\nies, winch, tresh and fresh 
apply'd. 

Will cure the anant'st Puppy of his Fnde 
Be furious, en\ lous, slothful, mad, or drunk. 

Slave to a Wife, or Wissal to a Punk, 

A Switz, a High-dutch, or a f^ow-clutth Bear, 

All that we ask is hut a patient h ai 
^Tis the hrst Virtue, Vices to ahhoj 
And the first Whsdoin, to be hooi no more 
But to the world no bugfbear is so great. 

As want of higine, and a small Estate 
To either India see the Merchant fly. 

Scaled at the si>ectre of pale Poveity* 

See him, with pains of body, pangs of soul, 

Bum through the Tropic, freeze beneath the Pole^ 
Wilt thou do nothing for a nobler end, 

Nothing, to make Philosophy thy fnend ^ 

To stop thy foolish view s, tliy long desires. 

And ea&e thy heart of all that it admires 

Here, Wisdom calls ‘Seek Virtue first, be bold! 

As Gold to Silver, Virtue is to Gold ' 

There, londoiPs voice ‘Get Money, Money still! 
And then let Virtue follow, if she will * 

This, this the saving doctrine, preach'd to all. 

From low St James's up to high St Paul, 

From him whose quill stands quiver'd at his ear. 

To him who notches sticks^ at Westminster 

1 Exchequer tallies , an old method of reckoning in the Exchequer^ 

103 



POEMS Ol \LrV\NDLil POPP 


Bainard^ in spirit, sense, and truth abounds, 

then, what wants lie Fourscore tliousand 
pounds , 

A Pension, oi such Harness for a sla\ e 
As Bug now has, and Ooi unant would ha\e 
Barnaid, thou ait a Cit, with all thy woith. 

But Bug and D U, then Ilonour^^ and so forth 
Yet ev ry child another song w ill sing, 

'Virtue, biave boys^ 'tis Virtue makes a King ' 

True, conscious Honoui is to feel no sin, 

He^s arm'd without that's innocent within, 

Be this thy Screen, and this thy Wall of Biass, 
Compar'd to this, a Minister's an Ass 

And say, to w^hich shall our applause belong, 

Xhis new Court-jargon, or the good old song ^ 

The modem language of corrupted Peers, 

Or what was spoke at Cressy and Poitiers ^ 

Who counsels best ? who whispeis, 'Be but great. 
With Praise or Infamy leave that to fate. 

Get Place and W^ealth, if possible, with grace. 

If not, by any means get Wealth and Place ' 

For what'^ to have a Box where Eunuchs smg. 

And foremost in the Circle eye a King 
Or he, who bids thee face with steady view 
Proud Fortune, and look shallow Greatness through > 
And, while he bids thee, sets th' Example too ^ 

If such a Doctrine, in St James's air, 

Should chance to make the well-drest Rabble stare , 

If honest S^z take scandal at a Spark, 

That less admires the Palace than the Park 
Faith, I shall give the answer Reynard gave 
'I cannot like, dread sir, your Royal Cave 

1 Sir John Barnard ( 1685-1 76-4*) , M P and Lord Mayor of Eondon 

194 



IMITATIONS OF HOKACK 


IJecause I see, by all the tracks afiout. 

Full many a Beast ^oes in, but none comes out/ 
Adieu to Virtue, if youVe once a Slave: 

Sc*nd her to Court, you send her to Iier grave. 

Well, if a King’s a Lion, at the least 
"rhe People are a niany-1 leaded Beast: 

Can they diret:t what measures to pursue, 

Wlio know themselves so little what to dor 
Alike in nothing but one Lust of Cjold, 

Just half tlie land would buy, and lialf be sold: 

Their Country’s Wealth our mightier Misers drain, 
Cr cross, to plunder Provinces, the Main; 

The rest, some farm the Ptjor-box, some the Pews; 
Some keep Asscunblies, and would keep the Stews; 
Some with fat Bucks on childh;ss I>otards fawn; 

Some win rich Widows l>y their Chine and Brawn; 
While wTth the silent growth of ten per cent.. 

In dirt and darkness, Imndreds stink content. 

Of all these ways, if each pursues his own. 

Satire, be kind, and let the wretcli alone: 

But show me one who has it in his pow’r 
To act consistent with himself an hour. 

Sir Job sail’d forth, the ev’ning bright and still, 

*No place on earth' (he cry’d) *like Greenwich hill?' 
Up starts a Palace, lo, th’ obedient base 1 

Slopes at its foot, the woods its sides embrace, > 

The silver Thames reflects its marble face. j 
Now let some whimsy, or that Dev’l witliin, 

Whicl 1 guides all those wlio know" not what they mean, - 
But give the Kniglit (or give his Lady) spleen; 

* Away , aw"ay ! take all your scatiblds down. 

For Snug’s the word: My dear! we’ll live in Towru' 
At am’rous Flavio is the stocking thrown? 

That very night he longs to lie alone. 

IBS 



POEMS OF ALEXANDEIl POPE 

Xhe Fool, whose Wife elopes some thrice a quarter. 
For matrimonial solace dies a martyr. 

Did ever Proteus, Merlin, any witch. 

Transform themselves so strangely as tlie Rich ? 

W^ell, but the Poor — The Poor have the same itch; 
They change their weekly Barber, weekly News, 
Prefer a new Japanner to their .shoes. 

Discharge their Garrets, move their beds, and run 
(They know not whitlier) in a Chaise and one; 

They hire their sculler, and when once aboard. 

Grow sick, and damn the climate — like a Lord. 

You laugh, half Beau, half Sloven if I stand; 

My wig all powder, and all snuff my band; 

You laugh, if coat and breeches strangely vaiy. 
White gloves, and linen worthy Lady Mary 
But when no Prelate’s lAwn with hair-shirt lin’d 
Is half so incoherent as my Mind, 

When (each opinion with the next at strife. 

One ebb and flow of follies all my life) 

I plant, root up; I build, and then confound; 

Turn roimd to square, and square again to round ; 
You never change one muscle of your face. 

You think this Madness but a common case. 

Nor once to Chanc’ry , nor to Hale* apply ; 

Yet hang your lip, to see a Seam awnry! 

Careless how ill I with myself agree. 

Kind to my dress, my figure, not to Me. 

Is this my Guide, Philosopher, and Friend ? 

This, he who loves me, and who ought to mend ? 
Who ought to make me (what he can,- or none), 
'That Man divine whom Wisdom calls her own; 

1. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (1689-1762); authoress and wit; 
beauty yet a sloven. 

2. Dr Richard Hale (1670-1728); studied insazuty. 

196 



IMITATIONS OF IIOKACK 


Great without Title, without Fortune bless’d ; 

Rich ev'n when plunder'd, honour’d while oppress’d; 
Lov’d without youth, and follow’d witliout pow’r; 
At home, tho' exil’d; free, tho' in the Tow'r; 

In short, that reas'ning, high, immortal Thing, 

Just less than Jove, and much above a King, 

Nay, half in heav'n — except (what’s mighty odd) 

A Fit of Vapours clouds this IDenii-God. 


FROM 

THE FIRST EFISTLE OF THE SECOND 
BOOK OF HORACE 

TO AUGUSTUS 

Of little use the Man you may suppose. 

Who says in verse what others say in prose; 

Yet let me show, a Poet’s of some weight. 

And (tho* no Soldier) useful to the State. 

"What will a Child learn sooner than a song ? 
What better teach a Foreigner the tongue ? 
What’s long or short, each accent where to place. 
And speak in public with some sort of grace ? 

I scarce can think him such a worthless thing, 
Unless he praise some Monster of a King; 

Or Virtue or Religion turn to sport. 

To please a lewd or unbelieving Court. 

Unhappy Dryden! — in all Charles’s days, 
Roscommon only boasts unspotted bays; 

And in our own (excuse some Courtly stains) 

No whiter page than Addison remains. 

He from the taste obscene reclaims our youth. 
And sets the Passions on the side of Truth, 

197 



POEMS or A I- i: X A N O E R POPE 

Forms the soft bosom with tlie gentlest art. 

And pours each human Virtue in the heart. 

Let Ireland tell, how Wit upheld her cause. 

Her Trade supported, and supplied her Laws; 

And leave on Swift this grateful verse ingrav'd, 

'The Rights a Court attack^'d, a Poet sav'd.* 

Behold the hand that wrought a Nation’s cure, 
Stretch'd to ^relieve the Idiot and the Poor, 

Proud Vice to brand, or injur'd Worth adorn. 

And stretch the Ray to Ages yet unborn. 

Not but there are, who merit other palms; 

Hopkins and Sternhold glad the heart with psalms : 
The Boys and Girls whom Charity maintains. 
Implore your help in these pathetic strains : 

How could Devotion touch the countrj’^ pews. 

Unless the Gods bestow'd a proper Muse ? 

Verse cheers their leisure. Verse assists their work. 
Verse prays for Peace, or sings down Pope and Turk, 
The silenc'd Preacher yields to potent strain. 

And feels that Grace his pray'r besought in vain; 
The blessing thrills through all the lab'ring throng. 
And Heav'n is won by Violence of Song. 


198 



F 8 O M ‘I II E 


EPILOCiUE TO THE SATIRES 

THK I»KO<;nii<5.S (>K VK-i: 

ViRTi'K may choose the high or low Degree, 

'Tis just alike to Virtue, and to me; 

Dwell in a Monk, or light uixui a King, 

She’s still the same belov’d, contented thing. 

Vice is undone, if .she forgets her Birth, 

And stoops from Angels to the Dreg.s of Earth: 

But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a NV’luire; 

Let Greatness own her, and she’s mean no more; 

Her Birth, her Beauty, Crowds :md Courts confc-ss. 
Chaste Matrons praise her, and grave Bishops bless; 
In golden Chains the willing World she dra%s s. 

And hers the Go.spel is, and hers the I.aw.s, 

Mounts the Tribunal, lifts her scarlet head. 

And secs pale Virtue carted in her stead. 

Lo! at the wheels of her Triumphal Car, 

Old England’s Genius, rough with many a Scar, 
Dragg'd in the dust ! his arms hang idly round. 

His Flag inverted trails along the ground! 

Our Youth, all liv'ry’d o’er with foreign Gold, 
Before her dance: behind her, craw'l the Old! 

See thronging Millions to the Pagod run. 

And offer Country, Parent, Wife, or Son! 

Hear her black Trumpet through the Land proclaim. 
That Not to be corrupted is the Shame ! 

In Soldier, Churchman, Patriot, Man in Pow’r, 

’Tis Av’rice all. Ambition is no more! 

See, all our Nobles begging to be Slaves! 

See, all our Fools aspiring to be Knaves! 

199 



POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE 

The Wit of Cheats, the Courage of a Whore, 

Are what ten thousand envy and adore! 

All, all look up with reverential Awe, 

At Crimes that 'scape, or triumph o'er the Law ; 
While Truth, Worth, Wisdom, daily they decry — 
'Nothing is Sacred now but Villany/ 

Yet may this Verse (if such a Verse remain) 
Show, there was one who held it in disdain. 


900 



INDEX OF FIRST LINKS 


A ple.is!iig Funia; a yet tautiuus Mnnl ui 

A &htr|*herU’s Boy ( iie seeks no l»etter name; ^ 

A$ some torjfi Vir>:?in, wiami her mother’s can; s h 

A\^'ake, m\ St John! leave all meaner \\u 

Begtniis ye critks* and restraai your spilt* *JH 

Beneath the shade a spreatlitig liceeli displays 7 

Come then, iny friend, my Genius! come alonjaf VJO 

First in these fields I tr\’ the sylvan strains I 

Happy the man, whose wish and care 9S 

Heav’n from all creiimres hidt‘s the book of Fate IID 

Hector, this heard, return’d without Delay 104 

Here rests a Woman, good without pretence 91 

I am His Highness’ dog at Kew 101 

I know the thing that's most uncommon 103 

In these deep solitudes and awful cells 66* 

In these gay thoughts the Loves and Graces shine 81 

Know tlien thyself, presume not God to scan 1521 

Nature and Nature's Laws lay hid in Night 92 

Nothing so true as wliat you once let fall 139 

Of little use the Man you may suppose 107 

Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild 02 

Oh be thou blest with all that Heaven can send 102 

Oh happiness! our being’s end and aim 123 

O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone 117 

St John, whose love indulg’d my labours past 191 

Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, 1 said 171 

Silence! coeval with Eternity 94 

Such were the notes thy once-lov'd Poet sung 89 

pThe Troops exulting sate in order round 109 

This Verse be thine, my fnend, nor thou refuse 89 

Thus having said, the Father of the Fires 109 

Hhus, near the gates conferring as they drew X 15 

i^giyrsis, the music of that murm'ring spring 10 

201 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


*Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill 14 

*Tis strange, the Miser should his C'ares employ 10*3 

To this sad shrine, whoe’er thou art! draw near £#1 

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art 99 

Virtue may choose the high or low Degree 199 

Vital spark of heav’nly flame 97 

What, and how great, the Virtue and the Art 185 

What beck’ning ghost, along the moon-light shade 78 

What dire offence from am’rous causes springs 40 

Wliate’er the Passion, knowledge, fame or pelf 122 

What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy 124 

While thus I stood, intent to see and hear 6*5 

Who shall decide, when Doctors disagree 148 

Yes, you despise the man to Books confined ISO 

Ye vig’rous swains! while youth ferments your blood 36* 


202 



THE PENGUIN POETS 

* 

THE PENOUIN BOOK 
OF CONTEMPORARY VERSE (i>I‘2) 
Edited by Kenneth AlUdt 

An aiitholog;y containiiif; 1U7 poc-ins !)y sixty-one 
mcKlem jxjijts frtun W. B, Yeats to Sidney Keyes 

THE CENTURIES POETRY 
Edited by D. Kilhiim Roberts 
A comprehensive anthology in five volumes: 

1. Chaucek to Shakespeare in preparation 

2. Donnk To Dkvden (o7) 

S. Pope to Keats (i>8) 

4. Hood to Hardy (d5>) 

5. Bridges to the Prkisent Day (dIO) 

A BOOK OF ENGUISH POETRY (d5)* 
Edited by G. E. Harrison 

An anthology selected from tlie works of sixly-one 
English poets from Chaucer to Rossetti. 

INDIVIDUAL POETS 
Wordsworth (d2) Edited by W. E. Williams 
Robert Burns (dS) Edited by H. W. Meikle and 
W. Beattie 

T. S. Eliot (d4) {The poet’s ozon selection') 

D. H. Lawrence (d11) Edited by W, E. Williams 
John Donne (dIS) Edited by John Hayward 

Selections from the poetry of C. Hay Lermis and 
Edith Sitwell will be published shortly 

ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENCE EACH 
* TWO SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE
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